


Stage IV: Brothers in Arms

by Trinket2018



Series: A Daring Adventure [4]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), NCIS, Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: ATA Gene, Action/Adventure, Agent Afloat, Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Ancient Technology, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Gen, Mpreg, Sentient Atlantis, spencer-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-26 15:45:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 83,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15666276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trinket2018/pseuds/Trinket2018
Summary: The continuing adventures of Spencer & Tony… zeds, fathers-to-be and space cops. With friends. And cats.





	1. The Big Game

**Author's Note:**

> RATING: NC-17 for profanity, violence.   
> WARNINGS: Canon-typical Violence. A version of A/B/O dynamics. Mpreg. Bigotry.  
> DISCLAIMERS: for disclaimers & spoilers see notes for *Stage I: The Good Earth*. 
> 
> Follows one month after *Stage III: Big Sea*. You really need to read Stages I, II, III of the series first, or this will make *no* sense at all. The Reid-whumping was done at the beginning of Stage I, so now it’s just mission!fic (canon-typical violence for Stargate trouble magnets), male pregnancy & common-or-garden bigots to deal with. Well, maybe not *just*…

Å 

*~ Those who will not reason, are bigots, those who cannot, are fools, and those who dare not, are slaves. ~ George Gordon, Lord Byron*

Å 

Ziva sat on another log, in another primeval-looking first-growth forest that had more in common with the Pacific North-west of the United States than an actual alien planet. She had pulled her favorite knife and amused herself with throwing it in practice. 

It struck her as very odd and discouraging that her missions to other planets had become boring and routine. This was the fifth off-world mission she had gone on with her father in the past month, and they had all been much the same. Abandoned worlds, evergreen forests, furtive meetings with wary locals, herself not included in whatever negotiations were taking place, relegated to watch duty on the perimeter. Guarding against ants, butterflies and small brown birds, mostly. Not even so much as a purple rabbit or visibly alien reptile. It was… disappointing. Exploring alien worlds was supposed to be exciting and varied, at the very least, wasn’t it? AR-1 certainly got the excitement and surprises one would expect with space travel, from all accounts. Or had Star Trek lied?

She had been warned, and had read enough Atlantis and SGC mission reports not to want to mistake calm for safety while off-world. The difficulty was trying to find ways to remain alert, engaged, and vigilant. It should have been easier when the unsavory people they were here to meet were wary, suspicious, paranoid in the extreme, and armed to the teeth. 

General O’Neill watched she and her father like a hawk while they were on base… no doubt keeping the Atlantis surveillance system locked on them whenever they were on the city. The Leadership *claimed* it was because of the personal situation between the Davids and DiNozzos, but neither Ziva nor her father believed that was the real reason. After Eli’s complaints to the IOA, O’Neill was forced to back off audio, video only, but it was an annoyance, making sure their backs were turned to any cameras in order to talk. At least on missions they were free of all high-tech watchers. O’Neill, Woolsey, all of them really, wanted to know just what Eli was doing, who he was coming to meet in these furtive missions, but Eli only smiled and told them he answered to the IOA directly, not to them, and refused to explain himself. 

Colonel Carter and Colonel Sheppard had both insisted that they have an official escort for every time they left the city, and that only made sense. But Eli turned down the more experienced and specialized diplomatic teams available. After much argument, Eli got his way, again, and accepted Atlantis Reconnaissance Team 19, AR-19, for assigned escort duty, a team without science or military specialists, usually only called when brute strength and extra hands and guns were needed, basically no more than a back-fill reinforcement team. 

Team Leader Major Gerald Miller was a by-the-book career soldier, an unimaginative hack, as far as Ziva was concerned, who had friends in high places who had insisted on his promotion to team lead, and a record sufficiently clean, if unremarkable, that there was no reason to deny him. He qualified for the Atlantis assignment mostly due to his ATA gene, strong enough to enable him to fly the Jumpers. Not really bright enough to match her father, whatever he reported back to O’Neill and the others wasn’t much of a threat to Eli’s plans. 

His team were not much better, and all of them had been passed from team to team for one reason or another, unable to make it on teams with more critical duties. The 2IC was Captain Vincent Groves, a heavyset man with red hair, and a die-hard anti-zed fanatic, reason enough for him to get the cold-shoulder from almost everyone on the city. He was one reprimand away from getting sent back to Earth in disgrace. The other two members of the team, Sgt. Guido Lorenzo, an olive-complexioned brunette, and Sgt. Carl Snyder, a giant blonde, were Groves’ pawns, following his lead, and aping his attitudes. Ziva, at her father’s direction, had bonded with the trio over complaints about the ‘fucking effems’ taking over the city of the Ancients. She had been doing her best to keep them at least reasonably inside the disciplinary lines, so they wouldn’t be replaced by any more astute personnel, but it was a struggle. Their border-line incompetence meant that this team, rather than sticking close and spying on their civilians, was perfectly happy guarding the Gate, too distant to meet Eli’s ‘guests’, who always arrived before them, and left well after. 

Eli offered no explanation of his plans to his daughter, either. Her role was security, pure and simple. And as she had never, in her entire life, challenged her father on his orders or demanded, or expected, explanations… it would be difficult to change the habits of a lifetime now. 

Ziva had always trusted that her father, whatever other motives he might have, had the good of Israel at heart as his first over-riding priority. That was enough, all on its own, to keep her obedient to his will. She completely rejected the oft-suggested opinion that her reactions were that of an insecure little girl desperate for her father’s approval, attention and love. She was a grown woman, a soldier of Israel, a Mossad operative with impressive skills. She had left that needy child far behind her. 

With their disgrace and expulsion from the halls of power in their own government… She knew Eli was bitter about that. She was inclined that way herself. They had done the government’s dirty work all their lives, sacrificed everything… even beloved family members… done what was necessary, no matter how dangerous, painful, illegal or morally reprehensible, because it had to be done. For the good of their people. For the national security. It was foolish to expect gratitude or recognition, perhaps, but surely someone should have acknowledged the need for their services. Someone had to do it, and few were they who were willing to get their hands so dirty, bathed in blood, for the public good. Who would do it, now they were gone?

Eli was working an angle. She didn’t know what it was, exactly, but she had no doubts that, if successful, it would return them both to power, and their duty in protection of their home-land.

And if that meant dealing with these suspicious characters… well. So be it.

The one thing she was certain of, was that these meetings on abandoned worlds, ostensibly to check out the Pegasus situation for the IOA… were nothing of the kind. Not that she knew for sure… she was deliberately kept out of her father’s negotiations. Plausible deniability, he said, but then, he never bothered to keep her in the loop. So this was nothing new.

But it was terribly boring, and all much the same. AR-19 would set up a tent in the chosen clearing, big enough to hold four men at the camp table, on the camp stools they brought with them… then retreat to the Stargate to set up their guard post. Once out of sight, their hidden guests would emerge, always dressed in the ubiquitous and anonymous homespun and leather of most Pegasus tribes. Eli would take the leaders into the tent, their own security would set up a perimeter and begin to pace, just beyond the tree-line, and Ziva would choose her guard post. 

This time, there were three leaders to meet them. Ziva was aware of others nearby… the visitors had brought their own security, of course, and even if the members of AR-19 should meet them by accident, and attempted to engage in conversation, they got a silent cold shoulder. Ziva had already determined none of them had her skill, either in wood-craft – thank you, Gibbs – or hand-to-hand fighting. Certainly AR-19 was no match for her in any skill. Let them all pace on watch. It saved her from the duty.

A cracking branch sounded not unlike a gun-shot… she jumped up, ready for action… but it was just the local wildlife, hunting in the undergrowth.

Slowly, she took deep breaths to get her heart-rate back under control, stretched her chin up and around until she heard her neck-bones crack, then settled back on the log, and resumed her target practice… imagining Tony’s face in the bark of the tree opposite. Several bulls-eyes had already gouged a deep furrow in Tony’s bark forehead.

Å 

Eli covertly studied the three rogue Genii who had come to meet him. At least this time, one of them was of first rank. In fact, the greatest challenge in his mission so far had been identifying and making contact with the right rogue faction. It seemed the Genii people spawned off-shoot outlaw gangs like glaciers spawned icebergs, every one of them disaffected, ambitious, impatient, unwilling to accept Ladon Radim’s leadership, and the concessions that had been made to keep truce with Atlantis. There were dozens of such groups out there, but in the time he had been poking around Pegasus, he had finally identified the strongest, most numerous and successful of them. 

Pyol Sovar was a dangerous and intelligent man, shrewd as Eli himself. He was silver-haired and dark eyed, probably Eli’s age. The ex-Mossad Director decided he could discount the two lieutenants with him, as Sovar hadn’t even bothered to introduce them. The young woman with the curly dark hair, reminded him of his Ziva… lethal, intelligent, watchful. It would not do to underestimate her. The older man was a grizzled veteran of many battles, to judge by his sour scowl and scarred face. They were no doubt there in an advisory capacity, although they would save her input for later, when they were alone with her leader.

“I am confused,” Sovar confessed. “You come from Atlantis, you are one of the Lanteans, an Earther even… yet you offer me alliance. Alliance with whom, exactly? For what purpose? Me and my people have been driven out of Genea precisely because we will not bend knee to Sheppard and his thieves, sitting on the horde of our Ancestors’ riches and legacy, on what should be our city, by right.”

Eli smiled. “I represent many groups… some with more loyalty than others… and I have my priorities. They do not include the welfare of the Lanteans. They are not my people, and have not earned my allegiance. And what do I offer? I can give you the City of the Ancestors.”

Sovar scoffed. “Many have tried. No one has succeeded. I will not repeat the errors of Acastus Kolya or Chief Cowan. Both of them dead, by the way. The city does not recognize any Genii as master. It obeys Sheppard like a mewling subaltern, and only McKay has the codes to unlock the command protocols, or the knowledge and skills to keep the city afloat.”

“That may once have been true… but there are others with the genetic legacy of the Ancestors on the city now. I have their names. Atlantis will answer to any one of them as easily as to Sheppard. And while it was… inadvisable to try and force a military man like Sheppard to surrender the city without a fight, there are others not so rigid or adamant. They have families, loved ones… valuable hostages. These also I know, and can reveal, at the right time.”

Sovar’s coal-black eyes narrowed. “But you need me. My soldiers.”

“I cannot take the city by myself. There are lockdown protocols that can be triggered to keep most of the population from fighting us until we have secured our position, for which we need our pawns, but I still need a force to help me take the city. Once that is done, we can easily incapacitate and remove any opposition… starting with Sheppard and those loyal to him. Those names I also have.”

“Ah. And when *you* have the city of the Ancestors? What do I get?”

Eli studied him. “What do you want? Atlantis is a big city. It would make an impregnable base for any operations you wished to mount. With such a foothold, could you not unite all the disparate rogue groups of Genii out there? This would at least double your numbers. And with that, you could even take Genea. And… I don’t know if your spies will have told you this… but the city is fully powered now. The star dive is operational. Pick a world… hover over their capital in orbit, and demand they submit… Who would dare say no?”

Sovar gasped, blinking… Eli could almost hear his mind ticking over the possibilities. Eli knew well what that felt like… a world view suddenly expanding to show a world, a galaxy, a universe, spread at his feet. His to command. But then Sovar was abruptly suspicious again. 

“So you give me the Pegasus Galaxy on a plate? Maybe even chase down the Wraith with such a formidable weapon at my disposal… what of you? You sit back and… what? Watch? Advise? Rule?”

“Wait. I wait. And when you are done, I take Atlantis back to Earth, and do the same thing there. You will have the Pegasus, I will have the Milky Way. Atlantis… once I have Earth, I won’t really need her. She can return home to her own people. You.”

Did Eli really think it would play out like that? Hell no. One or other of them would turn on the other at some point… Eli was confident that he would be the one on top when that time came. 

Sovar considered this. Considered him. No doubt the Genii was as aware of this inevitable outcome as he, and making his own calculations of his chances, when it seemed Eli had but one soldier at his back. They were both political animals, after all. But in the short term...

“You know my network of spies is quite extensive. I even have contacts among the Travelers, and several clans of Wraith-worshippers. So I know you have been making overtures to them, as well. I don’t know what the hell you hope to achieve with Wraith-worshippers… but the Travelers?”

This was unwelcome news. Eli had not wanted anyone to be that well informed of his covert activities. 

“The same offer I am making you. Their fleet is on its last legs… too many are old ships falling apart, barely space-worthy, more and more of their crews stranded on planets, and therefore vulnerable. If I offer them berths on Atlantis? Plenty of room for all. For millions. The ships they do have are all fitted with weapons and hyper drives. What could you do with that? And we need as many people as we can possibly get to take, and what is more important, keep the city. The number of peoples in this galaxy with the necessary technical knowledge is limited. Almost all are poor farmers or hunters, ignorant villagers, no help in the face of the job we need to do. And who else but a Traveler to aid, or if he cannot be reasonable, replace McKay in patching Ancient systems that are millions of years old? I have so far been unsuccessful in getting the Travelers to meet with me. With your contacts, perhaps you could… facilitate that?”

Sovar could easily see the advantages to getting the Travelers to help with such an undertaking… and it was undeniable that they did need all the help they could get if they were to take Atlantis. But...

“And the Wraith-worshippers? What is your business with them?”

Eli shrugged. “One of those groups I pretend to serve… they wish to see if a truce with the Wraith is possible. You and I both know it is not… but they live in another galaxy, and have no idea what it is to live in fear of a culling. In order to avoid suspicion, I must make some effort toward obeying their wishes.”

Of course, Eli did not bother to mention yet another group who believed they had his obedience, if not his loyalty, who also demanded he parlay with the Wraith-worshippers… and by extension, the Wraith themselves. The Lucian Alliance agenda would be nearly impossible to explain to anyone from Pegasus. No matter how any native of this galaxy felt about their own people or their rivals… all but the Wraith worshippers were united in one thing. Hatred – and fear – of the Wraith. Their human worshippers were viewed with horror and an equal measure of hatred, as collaborators, traitors to their own species, an equal threat to human survival. What would this man across from him think if he realised there was a group out there who actually *wanted* the Wraith to come calling? 

Eli had over thirty years of extensive CI/CT expertise, as field agent, operations manager, and half of that as Director of Mossad. Of course he had been well aware of the Trust and their activities… had even made deals with them before, sold, bought and traded information, weapons, sanctuary, assisted in getting moles into place in various governments and organizations (not his own, never his own), including the IOA. In exchange, he got their invaluable help in dealing with his own enemies, and, naturally, the enemies of Israel. But he had kept aloof, careful that no ties would ever lead back directly to him. They had something of a ‘mutually assured destruction’ pact in place… He knew every bit as much of their activities as they did of his complicity. 

But actually working for them? Eli had balked at that. Too much risk for too little guaranteed reward. And Eli preferred to be in charge.

But then, with his disgrace, and dismissal from Mossad... He was low on options, and was far more receptive to the Trust offer… and if they did manage to take over the planet (something he had seriously doubted they could do before this), he would find himself in the catbird seat. He agreed to help them take Atlantis, if he could have a cut of the spoils, and support when the time came to return home. And so he and Ziva were assigned to the Atlantis mission. 

Finding out Agent DiNozzo was part of the deal… and Ziva hadn’t bothered to warn him… that had been a nasty shock. He had counted on being able to fly under the radar of the Atlantis leadership for a few weeks at least. Not possible with DiNozzo there to unmask him. Shelyapin’s failure to deliver the *Daedalus*, which had been step one in Plan A to take Atlantis… Eli had not had any part in that, had not even known what Shelyapin intended… and he was seriously annoyed by the loss of his potential minions, Chaykovsky and Sasson. But Eli himself was in command of Plan B, so Atlantis was not yet out of reach. Then came the failure of his own plan for Trent Kort to take his vulnerable granddaughter into hiding… he would have been a fool to think the Trust wouldn’t use any means at their disposal to guarantee his compliance, and Eli was not a fool. The child, possibly the last of the Davids, was at risk from too many factions that could use her to strike at Eli. Kort would be only too willing to snatch DiNozzo’s daughter from him. And yet… Kort had, unaccountably, failed. Luckily, as it turned out, because the Trust had got to him already. 

So far, Eli could not call his plans an unqualified success. 

Meanwhile, the Lucians, now fully allied with the Trust on Earth, had finally gained unrestricted access to Atlantis and SGC mission reports. They quickly realised that if the Wraith made a deal with humans – food – they actually kept their bargains. Why wouldn’t they, so long as their larders were suitably stocked? It was not unlike an abattoir making a favored pet of their stalking goat, that led the herds calmly into the butchering room. If some enterprising Lucian was able to trade immunity from feeding for his own people with the offer of Earth’s exact position… well. 

Eli had also considered that such a plan might be amended slightly… it might be possible to sue for a separate peace that ignored the Lucians and the Trust altogether. What if he made the same offer… immunity for Israel, offering up the rest of the world, especially their neighbours and enemies…? And there might be room for other… ‘considerations’, seeing how desperate the Wraith must be right now for such a rich and safe food source. The Wraith might see the usefulness and benefits of an ‘administrator’, to control the human cattle on a conquered Earth… 

But all that was a last resort plan, in his mind. Not that there weren’t a lot of people and nations on that little blue planet who deserved to be Wraith-food… With Atlantis in his hands, he really didn’t need more desperate measures to regain what he fully believed should be his rightful place. With Atlantis in the Milky Way, the chances of the Wraith ever finding Earth was nonexistent. 

One way or another, when he returned to Earth, it will be as its Master.

Sovar stood up abruptly. “Ì must think on this offer, and confer with my advisors. I will drop a message back here, if and when I am ready to continue our discussions.”

Eli stood and bowed his head. “I understand.” 

“One thing might make us more inclined to believe your offer is in good faith.”

“Yes?”

“You know the one people are calling the Magic Veralin?”

“I do. Dr. Spencer Reid.”

Sovar nodded. “Yes. Well… we would like a private word with him. Without his usual guard. Do you think you can arrange that?”

“I think that might be possible… What is it you would like to ask?”

“First of all… we would like to know what he said to people, to make them think he is magic.”

“Ah. Tell me more.”

Å 

Early that morning, Tony had perked up and announced, “Get your gear, Probie. We got an off-world call.”

Spencer perked up, too. It had been days of paperwork, special projects and ‘community policing’, and Spencer was ready for a field assignment. He had considered requesting the Boss to offer his service as a consultant to one of the field teams, but held off on that. He was still the newbie, after all, and… well, Tony needed a keeper. 

Eight months pregnant and counting, Tony was making little or no attempt to slow down, kept making references to pioneer ancestors working the fields in the morning, having a kid at noon, and returning to the fields in the afternoon. Spencer kept reminding Tony that his paternal grandparents were Italian, his mother was English, so his claim to pioneer forbearers was a bit specious. 

Spencer wasn’t the only one concerned. Teyla was beginning to hover, when she wasn’t off with AR-1 doing something dangerous. Doctor Carson was making huffing noises every time they came back from a call, threatening to pin back *both* their wings, if they didn’t take more care. 

Carson had already grounded Dr. McKay from field missions until after he delivered Meredith Joy. AR-1 had been checking out planets referenced on the Asuran data crystal, and had already visited all of those that were within a few days’ travel from a stargate. Then, on their last trip, an estimated four days out and four days back through deep space, McKay had experienced a false labor, to the panic of himself and his team. Carson had decided enough was enough, and refused to let him off the city after that, and, adding insult to injury, putting him on bed-rest for a week. If Sheppard needed scientific expertise, he could take Radek Zelenka or Evgenia Andreeva in future.

Spencer, now three months pregnant, was in perfect health, all was going well, but he was obviously showing, with his lanky form and two growing babies nestled inside. He had been lucky not to experience morning sickness, and was still certified fit enough for field duty. 

He and Tony had settled into a partnership unlike any Spencer had experienced before. Despite the moniker ‘probie’, Tony treated him like a full equal in their work, and they worked well together. He expected some of the teasing and a little-brother relationship with the older NCIS agent, but unlike Derek Morgan, or any of his old BAU team, Tony seemed to feel no need to be overly protective and get between Spencer and every breeze that blew. No, that duty went to their usual escort, Major Anne Teldy and the terrifyingly competent ladies of AR-5. And, when on Atlantis, the many friends Spencer seemed to have made, in spite of himself. Tony respected his skills, his field experience, and his intelligence. And if Spencer was more inclined to step-by-step straight-line logic and methodology on a case (albeit performed at light-speed), it was well matched by Tony’s instinctive lateral out-of-the-box style in putting together disparate unrelated pieces of a puzzle into a coherent whole.

Spencer reflected that he might have become complacent with the BAU. Letting his team treat him as the kid brother: Boy Wonder, Junior G-Man, Pretty Boy, Kiddo, while Hotch was always careful to introduce him as Dr. Reid, to gain respect from the locals Hotch didn’t think he could earn on his own. Not just the zed to be protected, but the youngest of them, the least experienced, the least able to protect himself. His extreme proficiency with firearms after Emily’s ‘death’ had gone pretty much unnoticed, as had his determined pursuit of a greater physical fitness. So being allowed to grow as Tony’s ‘Probie’ was actually a welcome surprise, and a relief. 

Spencer quickly picked up his pack, always ready behind his desk, and helped Tony straighten up from his chair, with a huff of breathlessness and a creaking of joints. Tony glanced ruefully at his partner. “Yeah, Atlantis cured my plague-scarred lungs, but TJ is putting a bit of pressure on all my internal organs. Not to mention swollen ankles and sore back… I need a bit of catch-up.”

Spencer gave him a hard look. “I can probably handle this call alone… well, alone plus AR-5. You could take a nap.”

Tony scowled at him. “DiNozzos do not take naps. Well, okay, Tali does, but… adult DiNozzos, not so much. Don’t make me Gibbs-slap you, Probie. Come on. Anne and the gang are waiting for us on the stargate deck.”

Spencer was of the opinion that if he ever met the famed Leroy Jethro Gibbs, he’d be delivering some Gibbs-slaps of his own, enough to give the ex-sniper a concussion. Tony had never resorted to that correction, and promised he never would, although he threatened it enough when in a teasing mood. 

Å 

The people of MG7 811 lived in two separate villages, Greysey and Doolon, on either side of a fertile river valley, where they farmed their crops. They were traditional trading partners of the Athosians, although trade had mostly gone one way for the last generation – Athos supplying food, in the form of toba roots and game, in exchange for woven textiles and finished leather products. There weren’t more than two hundred on the planet altogether, and they had suffered cruelly from Wraith cullings. Jumper scans had shown the ruins of other villages, larger and more developed but long abandoned, dozens of them, all over the small continent, all of which had been culled to extinction, or simply failed for one reason or another. These last two communities were poised on a knife-edge of subsistence farming and a shrinking gene pool, and would also soon fail, either from inbreeding, insufficient hands to gather in the crops, or the first time the harvest yield fell even a little, unable to feed even the small population they did have through barren winter months. 

They were met at the gate, just outside the village of Doolon, by two solemn couples. 

“Welcome, Veralin,” said the tall, imposing blonde woman, stepping forward first. “Thanks for answering our call. I am Dara, Chief Elder of Doolon, and this is my husband, Lonto.” Lonto was another tall, imposing blonde, the phenotype of the Doolon residents, it seemed, especially with the contrast to the other couple, both small, compact and red-headed. “And this is Grenar, Chief Elder of Greysey, and his wife, Ysela.”

“Veralin!” said Grenar, bobbing a bow. “It’s my daughter who has died, Veralin, her young life cruelly cut short in an act of unspeakable violence. We need your wisdom, Veralin, to determine the truth, so that her soul may rest peacefully.”

Tony nodded. “And that’s why we’re here. We’ll do the best we can.” 

Tony proceeded to introduce himself and Spencer, and then their escort. AR-5: Major Anne Teldy, Dr. Alison Porter, Captain Laura Cadman, and Sgt. Dusty Mehra. No one mentioned the cats hanging around their ankles, tabby Bast, marmalade Luke or Anne’s Pegasus lynx Orion.

As usual for them now, both agents performed a ‘hot read’ on the locals. There was grief and anger, of course, even fear for the unfamiliar sudden and unexplained violence that had assailed one of their own. But there was also a simmering resentment in the two women, a barely restrained animosity that had no clear cause.

Further out, the town of Doolon was in turmoil, and even the children, though curious, somewhat excited, and wishing to approach the Veralin suddenly come among them, were held in check by their parents, and sternly told to respect the solemn and tragic occasion. 

Å 

The two Chief Elders both wore beaded necklaces of office. Grenar and Ysela were parents of the victim, a young woman named Gysa. She had lived in Doolon with her husband Tomro, son of Dara and Lonto. The body had been found behind their small home on the far edge of town from the gate. 

With Bast brushing against his ankles, Spencer took a hot read on the two couples, although what he was able to get matched with what he could tell just from body language and furtive glances.

The two women, Dara and Ysela, were grim and staunch in control of strong emotions, but seemed to find it difficult to avoid sending suspicious and hostile glances at each other. In spite of her grief, Ysela already blamed Dara for whatever had happened to her daughter. For her part, Dara seemed angry at Ysela and inclined to blame her in return, although for what, Spencer couldn’t be sure. The men, Lonto and Grenar, bore tear-tracks down their cheeks and reddened eyes, matching their grief and devastation. Both had been fond of the girl, and had high hopes of the young couple giving them precious grandchildren, a hope now dashed. 

“Pardon, honored Veralin,” said Grenar, hesitating, as if unsure of protocol. “We had heard, of course, that the Veralin, of either kind, were able to bear young… legends tell us this, but to see proof… Our felicitations to you both.” There was a wealth of longing in his tone.

Tony nodded. “Thank you. And for our part, we offer deepest sympathies for your loss.”

Å 

Pegasus Galaxy tribes weren’t much for police procedure, so there wasn’t much of a concept of keeping the crime scene pristine and leaving the body just as it was found. Nor were there any cameras to capture the scene. Tony had the two couples show him where the body was found, while Spencer, with his greater knowledge of medicine and pathology, was taken to the hut where the body had already been removed. The members of AR-5 divided themselves accordingly, Major Teldy and Sgt. Dusty Mehra going with Tony, Dr. Porter and Captain Cadman remaining in the village with Spencer. Tony was well aware that these two couples, the most influential in their respective towns, were far too close to the crime, yet he didn’t think he would be able to keep them out of the investigation altogether. For now, he was content to keep them near him where he could watch them, and out of Spencer’s hair. The FBI profiler would need to take a closer look at the body, and the two sets of parents shouldn’t be anywhere near that, if only for their own peace of mind.

“Who found the body?” Tony asked the elders.

“Her husband, Tomro,” said Ysela, mother of the dead girl. The woman, in spite of her red hair, had impressive control of her emotions, Tony thought, but her mention of her son-in-law was a little off. Typical mother-in-law irritation? Or more? Spencer was better at hot reads than he was, Tony still more comfortable with his cold readings.

They were led through the village to the verge, where the tilled fields began. Tony couldn’t help but notice that most of those they passed were large, blonde people… like a village of Vikings, he thought. Grenar and Ysela were dwarfed, and stood out with their dark red hair. 

Gysa and her husband Tomro had a little home on that path, with a vegetable garden out back, and a small wood-lot beyond. The body had been lying beneath the trees at the far side of the garden plot. 

Tony took what pictures he could of the dents in cleared earth, strewn with needles from the pines around him. There was some evidence of kicking and scuffing, and one of the pine trunks had a bit of dark red hair stuck in its bark. He got a photo, then bagged and tagged the sample. Glancing back at the little home, he saw what must be the husband, a big blonde man, young, tanned from hard work in the fields under sun and sky, maybe twenty or so, sitting on the back stoop, curled in a ball, shaking with hard sobs. He had what seemed to be a broken beaded bracelet in his hands. Tony studied the ground, and found more stray beads. These too he shot, bagged and tagged. Then he glanced at the wrists of the locals… everyone wore a beaded bracelet. 

“Can you tell me what the bracelets signify?”

The collected elders blinked at him, then at their wrists. The local Chief elder, Dara, explained, “They are commitment tokens.” She gestured to her husband’s. The beads were of the same three colors and types of bead: brown acorns (or local equivalent), red painted clay, and pierced white quartz, he thought. “The seed is for Lonto’s paternal line, the red clay for my maternal, the quartz was our choice for our own new union.”

Tony examined the three different types of bead in his bag. “So Gysa and Tomro took the seed, and…” he glanced at Grenar and Ysela’s bracelets, “the blue river stone for Gysa’s line, and the yellow clay bead was their choice?”

Everyone nodded.

Anne’s sharp eye caught a glint in the grass, beyond the wood-lot. She nodded to Tony, who went to collect it. 

An abandoned commitment bracelet? Two of the stones were identical… blue river stones, with a third green semi-precious stone Tony didn’t recognize.

Å 

The local mid-wife was there in the hut when Spencer arrived, cleaning and preparing the corpse for burial. Spencer winced at the contamination of the body before he had even had a chance to examine it, but this was a different culture, and an autopsy was out of the question anyway… He did his best to be respectful, asking for the mid-wife to step back and allow him to study the victim. Alison Porter was with him, Laura Cadman guarding outside.

Spencer carefully unwound the draped shroud from a young girl, no more than late teens, surely, a pretty woman with the light skin coloration and the dark red hair of her parents. The bruising on her body was plain to see, even in the dim light of the hut. Alison stepped forward with her flashlight to offer Spencer a better view for his work. He took pictures, and then examined the body, swallowing down his personal feelings at the sad waste of a young life, and sinking into his professional demeanor. 

He glanced at the mid-wife. “I know I must seem cold and unfeeling to you, and what I have to do is, at times, invasive and unpleasant, but I assure you, I will treat her with every respect. But in order to do my job, I must put away my feelings, and deal only with facts.”

The mid-wife nodded solemnly. “I understand, Veralin. Wherever she has gone, the child can feel no more pain now. Do as you must.”

Spencer nodded. Activating the recording device in his pocket, he began to speak into it. 

“The victim is a female Caucasian, approximately seventeen or eighteen years of age. Rigor mortis is advanced but not yet complete, so she has been dead no less than twelve hours. She was left lying on her back, judging by the lividity marks, blood pooling under the skin. Bruising around the throat and petichial hemorrhage in the eyes points to strangulation. There doesn’t seem to be any damage to the skull, but there are pieces of bark, and some pine needles, grass stems and leaves in her hair. She was held against a tree… and at some time lay on the grass, maybe dropped there. I don’t see any defensive wounds… but her fingernails are broken… she no doubt tried to grab her attacker’s wrists to break his hold on her.”

“His? A man then?” Alison asked. 

“With hands the size indicated by the marks on her neck? Assuredly. I know everyone probably knows everyone here, but… she knew her attacker and allowed him to get close to her, within arm’s reach. She was married?”

The mid-wife nodded. “She married Tomro, the son of our Chief elder, this summer past.”

Spencer carefully studied the body. Apart from the neck, there were no marks to be seen… until he reached her legs. There was bruising on her knees. 

“She tried to knee him in the groin, again to try and break his grip… unsuccessfully.”

And when he glanced an apology to the mid-wife and began an internal examination of her vagina… 

“She engaged in sex, fairly recently. Alison, a little more light? Judging by the lack of tearing or bruises, it was consensual, and gentle. Whereas the strangulation was savage and sudden… an act of passion and anger.” He took swab samples, and held one up to the light before bagging it. “I’ll take these samples back to Atlantis for analysis, to identify her lover.”

“Not her husband?” the mid-wife asked warily.

“I have no way to tell until we test it.” He didn’t want to outright say, but the one pubic hair he had found on the internal examination was dark red, not blonde. And he had noted the two very different physical attributes of the two populations. Of course, the hair might have been her own… but he doubted it. “Was their’s a love-match?”

“No. It was arranged. Almost all marriages here must be arranged, now. There are too few of us, we are most of us related to a degree… if a proposed love match is between two partners too closely related, it cannot be allowed. We have seen too many birth defects and miscarriages in recent years.”

“Did Gysa have a love match that was denied?”

“I… I believe so. Her first cousin, Grys.”

Å 

Tony and Spencer took a moment to discuss what they had found. 

“So, romantic triangle?” Tony sighed. “Gysa still seeing her cousin on the sly, hiding her secret bracelet, until her husband finds out? And he is not happy.”

“Or she was rejecting the cousin and his bracelet, and he’s the one not happy with the situation. Either way, the murderer acted out of a violent and jealous rage.”

“Terrific. Son of one Chief elder, nephew of the other. This is going to be messy.”

“I think that’s probably inevitable in such a tiny population. I can see now why Colonel Carter is so anxious to get these tiny communities to relocate and band together. The dwindling food situation alone is going to put them in danger of starvation, and soon.”

Tony nodded. “You want to question the cousin or the husband?”

“From what you’ve said, the husband fits the size of the attacker. We need to at least see if the cousin is a match. Since he’s still at the other village, I’ll take the hike over there.”

Tony grinned. “Better you than me, Probie. See you in a bit.”

Å 

As soon as Spencer was introduced to the cousin, Grys, he knew the young man couldn’t be the killer. Not only was he a typical Greysey native, red headed and of small stature, but he had a withered right hand – an obvious birth defect. There was no way this man’s small hands could reach around Gysa’s neck as the murderer had done. 

The young man was devastated. He kept fingering a commitment bracelet in his hands, a match for the one Tony found in the field beside Gysa’s cabin home. 

“We were in love,” sobbed the man. “From childhood. But the elders decided we were too closely related… and I…” he gestured to his hand with a hopeless shrug. “They would not allow us to wed. Her father, my uncle, made a political alliance with the elder of Doolon… Gysa said she didn’t care. If she was not allowed to be with me, she didn’t care who she was forced to wed. But… we were so miserable, kept apart… we… we did a terrible thing, and stole moments alone, whenever we could… it was the only joy left to us, no matter how wrong…”

“Did you see her last night?”

Grys nodded. “We made love in the grass… made wild plans, maybe to run away, go to another world, where we could be together… we never acted upon them, but maybe we should have… Then we heard a noise… Tomro was supposed to be drinking with his friends, usually did not return before dawn… but he returned early. Gysa said she had to go, and I left… I should have stayed, made sure she got in safely… I should have stayed!”

Spencer could find no lie in his manner or words. He had lost the love of his life, and Spencer knew too well how that felt. 

“Do you know how this happened? Who could have hurt my precious Gysa?”

“We have not yet completed our investigation,” Spencer replied warily.

“Then I will return with you to Doolon, and remain until you know.”

Spencer tried to talk the young man out of it – he couldn’t imagine how the family dynamics of this situation would work out, but there was no way they would improve by adding an adulterous and vengeful lover into it… But Grys would not be deterred. So far, it hadn’t occurred to the young man who the most likely suspect was.

Å 

It took Tony a while to get though to Tomro, the distraught husband. He still reeked of alcohol – Tony already knew he had been drinking heavily the night before with his friends. According to local scuttlebutt, Gysa didn’t have any friends in town – too much the outsider, too shy about putting herself out there, and too unhappy in her marriage, far from home, even if it was only an hour’s walk away. But even her mother-in-law, Chief Elder Dara, didn’t seem to like her much – and grew colder and more suspicious as time went by without an expected pregnancy. Dara had been heard to accuse Gysa of doing something to prevent pregnancy – taking some local root. But Tomro had been feeling the pressure too, of not being a good enough husband, and had been resorting to more and more of these drunken binges with his bachelor buddies.

“She wasn’t there when I got home,” Tomro wept, holding his face. “I went out looking… saw her… saw her… coming out of the field… and… *He* was there! The cousin,” Tomro spat our angrily. “She was taking off a bracelet… *His* bracelet! The one I gave her was in her pocket… hidden, like she was ashamed of me! Like she wasn’t mine! And I… I… It’s all red, in my mind… I… I don’t remember how I got so close, but her throat was in my hands, and I… I… She was mine! My wife! And she betrayed me, with that… that… *defective*!”

“Did you kill her, Tomro?” Tony asked quietly, well aware that the young man didn’t even realize he was there. 

“I… I… I don’t know…”

“You had your hands on her throat?”

“Yes. Yes. I remember… I was so angry… I was drunk… She smelled of *him*!”

“And you squeezed?”

“Yes… yes… She fought me, clawed at me…” he blinked blindly down at his forearms, clearly scratched by fingernails. “Until she stilled. And then… then… I let her go.”

Tony looked up into the four shocked faces of the elders. 

“I’m sorry. But I’m pretty sure that’s the truth.”

Dara immediately faced the others. “He was drunk, he was a hot-head… yes, and he was shocked to find his wife had been unfaithful. She betrayed him! He cannot be held wholly accountable…”

“That’s no excuse for murder!” Ysela protested. “My daughter is dead! If he no longer wanted her, he should have sent her back to us!”

Grenar joined in with, “He might act violently again in the future, given provocation or the excuse of being drunk!”

Spencer and his escort arrived at this point, quickly noting the situation, and holding back a young man from Greysey with a twisted hand, holding a bracelet of blue and green. Ah, the cousin. Spencer handed him off to Sgt. Mehra so he could join Tony. 

“I think our job here is done,” said Tony. “We need to leave and let them hash it out on their own.” 

Spencer lifted an eyebrow. “You think that’s possible, given the situation? Seems a little volatile to me.”

“It’s their world, their society, their choice of punishment. It’s got to be their choice, and we can’t get involved in that, either as Lanteans or Veralin.”

“Maybe not, but…” Spencer glanced behind him. “You know who Tomro will go after next, don’t you?”

Suddenly there was a loud, angry shout. “You! It was you killed her! You murderer!” 

Grys, no larger than Dusty Mehra, should not have been able to drag her into the middle of this scene, but he was furious and that gave him strength and determination. To quell him, Mehra would have had to get violent, and she was reluctant to take him down when he was obviously so devastated. 

Tomro looked up from his own private hell, having just begun to realize what he’d done, and found a much worthier focus for his roiling emotions. 

“You! Adulterer! You were going to steal her from me, were you?”

Both young men, in fits of rage, charged at each other…

In reflex, Tony stepped directly into the path of a big blonde bull, while Spencer reflexively stepped back to draw his weapon. The result was entirely predictable. 

Bowled over to the ground, Tony tried to hold onto Tomro, who fought back like a fury. Anne and Dusty jumped forward to grab Grys and forced him to the ground on his stomach. Spencer couldn’t see an opening to take a shot, even one meant to maim, so he quickly holstered his handgun so he could take a swift kick at Tomro’s head. At least that sent the blonde giant rolling sideways off of Tony, left him dazed and still struggling to get up. 

The shocked elders could only stand and stare. The mid-wife hustled forward, and shouted in Tomro’s ear, the youth howling in madness. 

“Stop, boy! You’ve assaulted a Veralin! That’s high crime, Tomro! Stop!”

What she said was like a bucket of cold water on all the locals, who froze and turned appalled eyes on Tony, who was still groaning in the dust, gripping his stomach. 

“I think I caught a kick to the gut,” he muttered, glancing fearfully up at Spencer, who knelt by his side at once.

Spencer glanced up at Anne. “Call for a Jumper and a med evac,” he ordered. “We aren’t going to make him stand until Carson sees him. Tony? Just lie back and take it easy. It’ll be fine. Although, I think this is the last straw as far as Carson is concerned. He’ll ground you for sure, now.” 

Tony started to laugh, then groaned, hugging his belly the tighter. “Oh, don’t make me laugh… not now.”

“Sorry.” He looked up at the shocked elders. “We will make no claim of assault. But you have a mess to clear up over this matter. 

“Tony told me it was your world, your society, your choice what the punishment should be. But be warned. Whatever his crime, that young man is a danger to himself and to Grys, if not to anyone else. If you claim drunkenness is at fault, then he may well act in similar fashion if he is ever allowed to be drunk again. If you claim he is a hot-head, then admit he might become violent any time his anger is aroused. And any woman he chooses to court should be warned of his temper and his drinking. These considerations are the least you should bear in mind before you decide anything.

“Also, consider this. His grievances would have been ample excuse for divorce, but not for murder. Should Gysa have died because someone was drunk, jealous and angry? Every excuse you make for what he has done makes less of the woman who was his victim. I don’t think that is a good thing. Beyond that… this is your problem, I do agree, the people of your two villages. But I do not think the parents of the victim, or the parents of her murderer, should have any part of the final decision. You four are all too close to the situation to be able to judge coolly and rationally. If you want more advice, send for us, we might be able to offer you some. But not today. Tomorrow, maybe.”

Only Grenar, father of the victim, came forward. “Veralin… I humbly thank you for giving me the answers we needed… I see now it’s somewhat my fault for denying my daughter her chosen lover. But what was I to do? We have seen other communities with such inbreeding vanish in a generation, even without the Wraith.”

Spencer sighed. “Then perhaps it’s time to consider relocating. You can join another planet. We have a list of over twenty, facing much the same problems as you, who are ready and willing to invite any refugees to join them. Or come to New Lantea, merge with the Athosians and a dozen other communities were in as dire straights as you are, for better odds of survival.”

Chastened, the two couples were herded off by the mid-wife, and several local men arrived to take both Tomro and Grys in hand. Where they were being taken, beyond opposite directions, and what would happen to them there, wasn’t really Spencer’s business. He had enough to contend with in making Tony comfortable for the journey back to Atlantis. 

Å


	2. Charm and Harm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed a psychologist who could handle McKay… and it kind of got away on me. A gift for Bob Newhart fans.

Å 

Odd, thought Spencer, seated glumly at his desk, that a mission that took no more than three hours door to door, and ended up taking twice as long just to get through medical – Tony was *still* there, getting checked out *thoroughly* to make sure TJ hadn’t taken even a bruise, and that was nothing to what Teyla would have in store when she got home – was going to generate paperwork that would take three times that long to complete. 

When Lucifer suddenly appeared in the NCIS office, the black cat hissing and spitting, back arched and the fur of his back spiking even as his tail became a bottle brush, Spencer knew better than to ignore it. He dropped his report on Gysa’s murder with a brief command to Garcia to lock up the files for him, and bolted after the black cat, Bast on his heels.

There was no doubt in his mind that they were heading to the science labs in West Pier Tower 5, because, where else would Dr. Miko Kusanagi be? She seemed to always be at work, almost as if she didn’t even have personal quarters. She was practically a ghost in any other part of the city, flitting in quickly and gone just as suddenly, saying little or nothing to anyone. Evgenia, who was getting to be one of Spencer’s prime sources of city gossip, said she was just shy, and had spent too long under the thumb of her extremely traditional Japanese parents. They had been horrified enough when she had elected to go to university, stunned when she took up hard sciences, physics and engineering, and practically disowned her when she decided to take a doctoral scholarship at CalTech. 

When the transport cabinet dumped man and cat at their destination, Spencer was unsurprised to hear the loud and familiar ranting of Dr. Rodney McKay. 

For some reason, Spencer hadn’t had much opportunity to interact with the Canadian scientist, and he wasn’t exactly sure why, if it was just accident, or deliberate on McKay’s part. Although why McKay should be avoiding him… But it was doubly odd when his Boss was married to one of McKay’s team-mates, and they spent a lot of time with the other members of AR-1.

The tone of the rant was unusually vicious, however. He just got to the open door of the labs, to see Dr. Kusanagi curled up, almost into a foetal ball, as McKay, leaning over her, yelled out, “I’m sending you back to Earth on the very next *Daedalus* run, I swear I am! The SGC can send you home to Japan!”

“Doctor McKay,” Spencer bit out, as loud as he dared. The other scientists in the lab had already backed out of the blast radius, their faces pale with shock, none of them daring to move, as it might attract unwanted attention. Now their heads all swung to Spencer, eyes widening even more, to Looney Toons dimensions.

McKay slowly straightened and turned to face Spencer, face red with fury, eyes bright and vague. “What? Who…? What are you doing in my lab, Dr. Reid?”

“Doctor McKay. I’d like you to come with me. Now.” Spencer was keeping a tight rein on his emotions, but it was testing him sorely. When McKay took a deep breath – it seemed he had not been breathing properly for some time if the shouting was any indication – Spencer added in a tone Hotch would be proud of, “Right now, doctor.”

“I… I can’t! I’m busy. I have a monumental cock-up to sort and—“

“It can wait. You need to come with me.”

“Oh God… is it the team? Has something happened to—“

“Doctor McKay! It was *not* a request. I won’t ask you again.” Spencer stepped to one side of the doorway, leaving space for the scientist. When McKay finally joined him and passed through, he turned to the woman huddled in the chair. “Dr. Kusanagi? I can assure you, no one is being sent home at this time. But I think it might be a good idea if you took the afternoon off. Go over to the Infirmary. I think you could probably use a headache remedy and maybe a sedative. Dr. Carson can show you to a quiet room where you can meditate. Right?”

He didn’t want to risk the little Japanese woman taking some rash action before he had a chance to deal with an untenable situation, and he was sure he could depend on Carson to recognize immediately that the woman needed his reassurance and calm, and keep her with him until Spencer could come talk to her.

He had a far more volatile matter to deal with first.

Spencer swept past the CMO, ignoring his panicked questions and demands with a curt “My office, doctor”, ignoring too the baleful way Bast was growling at a repentant Anna.

He could only hope Anna’s zed companion would be as apologetic in a few minutes. He spent the few minutes in transit texting Carson on the situation with Dr. Kusanagi, and his urgent recommendations.

Once back in the Command Tower, and his NCIS offices, Spencer pointed to a chair, and waited silently until McKay, seriously unnerved now, sank into it, staring up at the tall lanky younger man. Spencer felt the need to pace, if only to help him keep his own anger in check that little bit longer. 

“I understand that you are subject to a cocktail of unpredictable pregnancy hormones right now, Dr. McKay, upset at not being allowed to go on missions with your team, stressed at not having Radek around to soften your influence on your staff, or them on you, but… 

“I also realize that you are mission critical, and have a great deal of political power on the city as CMO, have been used to having Atlantis leadership allowing you free rein, indulged, even, in your angry tirades, that you’re Sheppard’s mate, and challenging you is quite definitely political suicide, but… This is too far. I cannot allow it to continue.”

“Allow what?” McKay demanded, bewildered.

And that was almost worse, that he didn’t even realize that he had gone beyond the pale. 

“Just now, I was witness to verbal and emotional abuse far and above what I can allow. You had Dr. Kusanagi in tears. In tears! I don’t know why you felt called upon to berate anyone like that in public, and I don’t really care, because it has to stop.”

“But… I… I don’t…”

“You threatened to send her back to Japan! Do you have *any* idea what that could mean for her?”

“Mean for her… I don’t have the first clue what you’re talking about! Why did you demand I come here like this? I have work to do, I…”

“No, you don’t have the first clue that you just put one of your staff on suicide watch! Do you?”

“I… I what?”

“Let me tell you exactly what Dr. Kusanagi would return to in Japan. Japan is a member of the IOA, the first thing they would insist upon is a *complete* physical. How long do you think it would be before they discovered that she was zed? Seconds. And at that point they would insist on the usual protocols in that nation for every single zed born or in residence there. First, the forced surgical removal of her genitalia. Unlike the US, they are not content to merely refuse to allow us to marry, they don’t allow us to procreate *at all*. Then she would have her passport, work visas and even citizenship revoked, academic credentials stripped, blacklisted from *any* paying jobs. If she has family who care to acknowledge her, which is in doubt in her case, she would be returned to them, for them to support her, or decide what to do with her. Most zeds in Japan go into seclusion, either hidden by their families as disgraces, or to temples as support staff, janitors, gardeners, servants. *That* is what you were threatening to do to Dr. Kusanagi. And because the Atlantis leadership has not decided what to do with their sudden upswing in zed population, they have not yet acted on her request for asylum and citizenship in any other IOA country, since they would have to explain why. I personally advised her to try for Canadian or British citizenship, rather than American, because the situation for our kind in the US isn’t all that much better. *Now* do you wonder why she was in tears at your threats? Or why I texted Carson with the advice to put her on suicide watch?

“Do you care to explain yourself, and that disgusting and abusive scene I walked in on?”

McKay could only stare up at Spencer. He swallowed with some difficulty, eyes reddening, skin pallid, pale blue eyes beginning to swim. “I… I didn’t know…”

“Clearly.” Spencer straightened, running a frustrated hand through his unruly locks. 

“I am not unsympathetic, Dr. McKay, but you’re out of control, and need to find more positive coping mechanisms, at the very least anger management lessons, not to mention a crash course in what being a zed *really* means, apart from pregnancy. Not one other person on the city would be allowed to act as you did just now, without being called on it. Well, I have just elected for a zero-tolerance policy with you, to keep you from verbally and emotionally abusing *anyone*, no matter the provocation. Which, in this case, includes mandatory therapy sessions with one of the psychological staff. I am also going to assign you a reading list you must complete, and answer a quiz on, before you will be allowed back in the labs at all. Now, you can argue and refuse to take even these minimal measures I have outlined, but in that case I would have no choice but to bring you up on *official* abuse charges. Which would no doubt damage both our careers, mine worse than yours. Now me, I don’t much care, at this point. What you did to Dr. Kusanagi was inexcusable, and I can’t *begin* to tell you how much I hate a bully. So go ahead, try me.”

Wide eyed, McKay gulped a few more times, then nodded. “No… No. I don’t think I will.” He winced. “But therapy? Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously,” Spencer snapped, losing all patience. “I’ll arrange your first appointment as soon as I check to make sure Dr. Kusanagi isn’t going to do something desperate, rather than risk being sent back to Japan. You aren’t seriously considering firing her, are you?”

“No! No… of course not. I don’t even… I don’t even know where that came from…”

“Well, I suggest you find out, and make sure you never do it again. Am I clear?”

“Yes… very. Maybe I should… apologize to Miko?”

“I think you should stay well away from her for now, doctor.”

McKay nodded, beginning to look shocky and unsteady. 

“Oh hell… I think I should take you to the infirmary, though. You look like you’re about to crash.”

“You know, I think maybe I am?”

Å 

As it turned out, McKay had developed himself a pretty extreme case of hypoglycemia, with hours too long, missing too many meals, working himself into the ground, as he totally failed to cope with the absence of his AR-1 team-mates. He was as deliberately oblivious of his pregnancy as he was of his zed status. Both of which physical changes in his body made his self-neglect down-right dangerous. 

No wonder his temper had been hair-trigger lately. 

But Spencer remembered his warnings to the people of Doolon and Greysey – any excuses made on McKay’s behalf belittled those he abused, and did nothing to correct unacceptable behavior patterns.

So, with grim determination, as he sat outside the Infirmary to access his Atlantis notepad, Spencer had Garcia draw off the security surveillance for the labs, appended a report of his recommendations, and fired off emails to McKay, Carson, Col. Carter and Mr. Woolsey. 

Then, he went to speak to a far calmer Dr. Kusanagi. Though she didn’t say anything, merely nodded deferentially, her dark hair falling around her face in a protective and obscuring veil, Spencer was sure enough of her mood that he felt she was stable enough emotionally to let alone for a little. He told her that McKay had obviously not been himself for some time, but his attack would be addressed, and not allowed to repeat itself, and her position on the city was not in jeopardy. Before anyone went home, for whatever reason, Spencer would personally guarantee that protocols were in place to protect them from reprisals, threats or other negative repercussions, due entirely to their service here. 

Miko rarely betrayed any hint of her Furalin abilities, but with a shy, cautious glance to Spencer, she sent him a quiet thank you, trusting him to be as good as his word, and to protect the new zeds. Spencer flashed her an image of a blue jungle – they would speak more openly there, come nightfall. Miko gave a brief nod in acknowledgement. 

Then Spencer went to find his Boss. He had no idea how his superior would take his unilateral actions… it was going to be a shit-storm, and Spencer was entirely willing to brave it alone, if need be. But Tony at least needed to know it was coming.

Å 

Dr. Spencer Reid had been on the job, attached as part of the NCIS Agent Afloat office on Atlantis, for a while now. His growing uneasiness about certain unfolding situations caused him to go to his senior partner for advice. No one could work in law enforcement for as long as Spencer without being sensitive to the politics and protocols involved in the job, the importance of chain of command that was next thing to military in nature. But Spencer had seen too much in the past week that he felt was beyond what he could let go, without at least making an effort at protest. So he took a deep breath and spoke his mind.

Tony listened with reassuring seriousness, which was something all on its own, and indicated that the NCIS Very Special Agent had concerns of his own. 

“I know this is a difficult situation,” Spencer offered. “He’s part of the executive command of the city, he’s in charge of the sciences, he’s quite obviously critical to the success of the mission, even the survival of the Expedition, and… he’s Teyla’s team-mate. But Boss… it’s abuse. Plain and simple. And today he made Miko cry. Miko! He threatened to send her back to Japan! You *know* what that could mean! She tried to hide how upset she was, but Lucifer came and got me. How bad would it have to be for that? I had her report to Carson, he’s got her on a mild sedative, but… people have committed suicide for less. I was there. I’m a witness, at the very least. 

“And, okay, he’s got a lot of hormones running around his system right now, he’s apparently not been eating or sleeping while AR-1 are gone, and he’s suffering a pretty bad hypoglycemic reaction right now, which could account for a lot of the mood swings, but… he’s going to do an injury to himself and his baby at this rate. High blood pressure at the very least, with increased risk of health complications, he has to be careful of any medications he takes, and… if this was an isolated case, maybe I’d be willing to let it go, but we both know it’s not.

“Miko isn’t going to report this or complain. She’s had a crush on him for years. Even now that she realizes he belongs to someone else, she worships the ground he walks on, which only makes his actions the worse. She knows intellectually that he isn’t perfect, but emotionally? Getting her to stand up for herself is too much of an ask, especially right now, and I won’t make her support my actions.

“I know he’s been the last bastion of protection for the city since the Expedition arrived… I have every respect for the job he’s done… but as far as I can tell, no one has ever even suggested he might need a break, or therapy to stave off various degrees of PTSD. Has he ever even seen a therapist? Considering his often loudly voiced opinion of the medical profession, I would assume not. I’m thinking if something isn’t done, he’ll only get worse… whatever worse might be in this case, and I shudder to think.”

Tony held up his hands with a sad smile. “Whoa! Spencer. Probie. I agree. You’re right. McKay crossed the line today. Maybe he’s crossed a lot of lines, and we let him do it. But… You’re right, we need to do an intervention, or he’ll cross a line there’s no coming back from. Whether he neglects himself into a miscarriage, drops dead of an aneurysm or heart attack, or completely alienates the entire science staff… if making Miko cry hasn’t already done it… We need to step up. There isn’t one other person on the city we would let get away with half of what McKay says and does on a daily basis, and no one else has our mandate or will to make him see reason. So how do you suggest we handle it?”

Spencer felt intense relief. He had full support from his Boss. That was enough.

Å 

Spencer was pretty sure, now, that, since his arrival, McKay had made a point to avoid him at every turn, and the young profiler had been at a loss for how to build a relationship with someone so vital to the city, a fellow zed, a fellow *pregnant* zed… but maybe that was part of what made McKay keep his distance from both Tony and himself. Unlike the two of them, McKay had not been born a zed. The revelation of his transformation, unwilling as it was, had been a difficult one, fraught with any number of unpleasant side effects. Spencer had no doubt the successive shocks and life-altering changes had piled even more stress on the beleaguered man. No wonder he was acting out even more than usual, or so everyone said. So he could understand. But that didn’t mean the man should be allowed to run rough-shod over everyone the way he was, or allowed to endanger his own health and that of his baby with his antics.

Spencer was already the bad guy in McKay’s mind… no one better than him to finally take a stand. 

Of the various options open to him, Spencer went for the lowest key one first. Forced break from the labs – for himself *and* his staff – along with a reading list to get him up to speed on zed matters, an unofficial reprimand for harassment, and mandated therapy sessions, with the threat of escalation, to further charges and official actions in future, if this didn’t work to curb the worst of McKay’s behavior.

It was one of the oddities of life on Atlantis that the entire population of the city was far more astonished when McKay caved, almost at once, and accepted Spencer’s terms for therapy sessions, than they had been of his outrageous and unacceptable emotional rampages in the labs. 

Å 

Oh yeah, there was a lot of resistance from Atlantis Command Staff.

It took Carter and Woolsey *seconds* to descend on the Infirmary and Tony’s cubicle. 

“Banned from the labs!” Woolsey began. “You can’t do that!”

Tony glanced at Carter, who stood back, mouth a tight line… but eyes gleaming with amusement. A brief hot read, and Tony verified that, yes, Carter might not be able to publicly admit it, but she felt it was high time the irascible and hostile scientist was reined in. Not that she disliked the Canadian… quite the opposite. They’d known each other, and had enjoyed a volatile and complicated love-hate rivalry for many years. She hadn’t liked his more out-of-control excesses recently, and didn’t quite know how to address them. She knew from a lot of personal experience that she didn’t have the necessary authority with McKay to force him to toe the line.

Woolsey didn’t want to face McKay down, either. And there was Tony’s leverage. 

He blew a whistle between two fingers, and held up his hands. 

“Okay, hold on there! Did you actually watch the surveillance? Because I did. Do you know what his threat to send Miko to Japan would actually mean for her? Because I do. Did Carson tell you he has McKay on glucose and saline drip IVs right now, and will be spending the night here in the infirmary with both me and Miko, who, I’ll have you know, is on an unofficial suicide watch? No? Well, then, allow me to fully brief you on the situation. 

“McKay has followed his usual pattern, and without AR-1 to ride his ass, allowed himself to work thirty-eight straight hours in the labs, without a break for either food or sleep. His blood pressure was through the roof, he’s malnourished and dehydrated, as well as hypoglycemic, and he was about to pass out when Spencer brought him in. That man is a walking disaster ready to explode. And the very first casualty will be his baby. Then maybe him, but maybe someone on his staff he’s pressured to unreasonable lengths. 

“I’m sure Dr. Reid has sent you the current laws in Japan regarding zeds. If I know my Probie, he followed that up with similar reports on all of the IOA nations. Read that, Mr. Woolsey, and then get off your damned duff and decide what we do about our people who go home… altered. 

“As for McKay? Yes, he’s dealing with a shit-load of life-altering shocks. Zed transformation, pregnancy, along with all the usual Pegasus Galaxy shit he gets on a daily basis, and AR-1, his usual support system, is out on a mission without him. But you know what? He’s refusing to deal with any of that, preferring deep denial. And it’s going to kill Meredith Joy, him, and maybe a few others, if he doesn’t get a handle on it all. 

“So, yeah, maybe Spencer went a little overboard, banning McKay from the labs, *temporarily*. But the unofficial sanction for emotional and verbal abuse? Totally our business. The mandated therapy? The least we can make him do to wake the fuck up and get his head out of his ass. The reading list Spencer gave him? Ought to be required for all new zeds, not just McKay. It’s more of a survival manual than anything else. Keep that in mind when *you* both read it. And in case you’re wondering? It wasn’t sent to General O’Neill, because he already knows all of this stuff… which is why he sent me a text just before you got here that says ‘good work, carry on’. 

“So, Mr. Woolsey, Colonel Carter, instead of berating me and trying to get your resident space-cops to back down, you ought to be thanking us, profusely, for holding the bag for you, and dealing with a problem you didn’t want to handle yourselves, doing what has to be done to protect this whole city, not just one member of it. But, you know what? No thanks necessary, really. Because this is the job. Community policing.”

Å 

And then Atlantis Reconnaissance 1 arrived home, and Sheppard stormed into Tony’s room, with the other members of his team trailing behind. Radek Zelenka was with them, wide-eyed, but watching everyone with alarm.

“What the hell, DiNozzo!”

Teyla, with torn loyalties, stood by her mate’s bed. She gave him a stern look, then said, “I will want an explanation for your presence here under Carson’s care, but later. He assures me all is well for now… but for now, Tony, I am sure we would appreciate an explanation of what has happened to put Rodney here, and in some distress.”

“Did you actually talk to him, first? Or Carson?”

It was a grimmer-even-than-normal Ronon who unexpectedly spoke up. “Somebody said he made Miko cry in the labs, earlier. She’s here too, in isolation.”

That was news to his team-mates, and they all stared, first at him, then at Tony. 

He nodded. “Spencer thought it best. She was very upset. With reason. Do any of you know the laws regarding zeds in Japan?”

From the glowering looks from Ronon, Teyla and Radek, they did. Sheppard glanced at them, uneasy. “Okay, no, but I’m guessing… not good?”

“Very very not good. Look it up when you get a moment. *One* of the things McKay threatened was to send Miko back home to Japan.”

Radek gasped, and ran out of the room, and they could hear him demanding of one of the infirmary staff to speak to the little scientist. 

“You might want to take a look at the surveillance of the ‘incident’ in the labs, before you come in railing at me, or going after Spencer. He did the right thing. As a matter of fact, he went a lot easier on McKay than I would have, under the circumstances. I think I would have just hauled off and punched him. And, really, Sheppard? If you haven’t noticed how bad he’s been getting, why not? And if you haven’t done anything to try and get him help, why not? The man is suffering from a hell of a lot of stress, from a lot of different angles, and he isn’t dealing with the fact that he is now zed, and pregnant, soon to be a parent. You might want to help him out with that, before something really bad happens.”

Teyla might not like how harsh Tony was being, offering only a warning glance to her mate, but when she turned to her team lead, she said, “We have all noticed, John. We should all have done something before now. It is… I am ashamed to say I should have acted, said something, tried to intervene myself. It was too easy to let his normal state become worse over time. At least let us find out what has actually occurred, and what measures might best be applied to correct the situation, before it is too late.”

Teyla’s always good sense prevailed, and she led John and an incensed Ronon away. 

Å 

There were three psychologists attached to the medical department on Atlantis, two military and one civilian. It was the civilian, Dr. Robert Hartley, who willingly volunteered to take the case, much to the relief of the rest of the staff. A time was appointed, and Dr. McKay duly appeared, unhappy, anxious and restlessly wandering the office, glancing at the couch and avoiding it like the plague. It wasn’t the usual cliché recliner, just a regular sofa, with pillows, but still. And the office was typical of Atlantis, bright, open, wide windows, balcony, stunning view of the city and the sea. The three interior walls were lined with book shelves, and the one desk was deliberately placed to face the view, but McKay ignored it to roam the shelves, reading each title with intense focus. 

Although Dr. Hartley had an Expedition laptop on his desk, it wasn’t on, and he was writing in a paper journal instead. He was a middle-aged man with a receding hair-line, graying hair, and a pair of square-frame half-glasses he would look through for his paper work, but peer over the tops to see his patient. This meant twisting in his chair, because McKay was reviewing his library, which was at the therapist’s back. The astrophysicist huffed at Freud, frowned at Jung, and seemed puzzled by some of the other titles… until he found, on the ‘R’ shelf, a selection of textbooks written by their own Dr Reid, most on geographic, psychological and behavioral profiling, most dealing with criminal behavior, but some on zeds and the sociology of discrimination. It was a collection of essays on the statistical analysis of zed treatment and participation in society that McKay finally plucked from its place on the shelf to frown and peruse. 

“This isn’t the most recent edition,” McKay commented.

Hartley blinked. It was telling that McKay even knew that. “N-no. It isn’t. I’ve been rather following Dr. Reid’s career for a while now. He’s a very thorough researcher, and a compelling writer, his conclusions logically presented and convincingly argued. Have you read his work?” 

“Some,” McKay admitted reluctantly. 

“I sometimes think he should… should probably be required reading for… you know. For zeds.” Hartley turned back to his notes, and casually threw out, “If you want to borrow… any-anything, go ahead.”

There was no reply. Hartley seemed to finish a thought he put down on paper, and swiveled his chair to study his patient, again over the square half-glasses. The psychologist had a halting, tentative way of talking, almost a stutter, as if he were perpetually startled and needed to think over what he was saying in light of fresh shocks, and a deadpan manner that was extremely effective at the poker table, and encouraged his patients to underestimate him, finding him anything but intimidating. 

After a moment more of watching Dr. McKay circle, Hartley offered, “Wouldn’t you rather sit down?”

An almost panicked look at the couch had McKay skittering away to another set of shelves. Hartley gave a resigned sigh, making no attempt to hide his reaction. 

“I know you don’t think much of the medical profession, and even medical professionals don’t think a lot of psychologists.”

McKay shrugged. “Kate was okay… Kate Heightmeyer. She was with the First Expedition… but she died. Scared to death in her sleep.”

Hartley blinked at this information, unexpectedly volunteered. Probably for the shock value, to put him off, if he was any judge. “Um… okay… So how about I just sit here at my desk and catch up on paperwork, while you sit down and relax. I know coming to me was forced on you, and I can’t *make* you talk… although, I have to admit, it would probably do you good to have a good full on rant... get some of your stress out. Better you yell at me than Miko or Radek, or any of the others. Right?”

McKay eyed him with deep skepticism. 

“No, really,” Hartley insisted, holding his hands up in surrender. “If all you want to do in your sessions is take a nap, that would probably help too… you know, with your con-condition.”

“Condition?”

Hartley gestured vaguely at McKay’s middle. 

“Oh. That,” McKay said glumly. Hartley merely shrugged, but should probably count it as a win when McKay collapsed carefully on the sofa, rubbing at his aching back. 

“And as for talking… It-it would probably help. If not to me… I don’t know… do you have someone, anyone, you can talk to? A confidante?”

“Not really.”

“Not even Colonel Sheppard? Maybe Teyla? She seems like a good listener to me…”

McKay colored. “No. They… No. They’re both pretty mad at me right now, and I… I don’t want to make that worse.” And potentially lose the regard and respect, if not the affections, of the most important people in his life. McKay didn’t have to actually say it to make his meaning plain. 

Hartley frowned in thought, watching as the Siamese cat jumped onto the sofa and nudged until McKay rested back in the sofa and let her have his lap, purring like a bulldozer engine.

“Do you talk to your cat?”

“Who, Anna? No… not really.”

Hartley shrugged. “You’ll never get a less judgemental listener. Absolutely nothing you say will make any difference to her, I guarantee it. The *only* thing that might damage that relationship is if you fail to feed her on time… or maybe forget to clear out her litter box.”

McKay put his hands on her, patting, rubbing, scratching under chin and behind ears, making the cat’s eyes close in bliss and twist her belly up. 

“I had a cat when I was a kid… Cat, I called her. Cat was white with tabby cowl, saddle, tail and legwarmers. She was feral, I found her behind a dumpster, just a tiny kitten, half-starved and filthy, but vicious and hostile to everyone – everyone but me. You know those fantasies you have as a kid, of the mustang that will only let you ride him? Or the lion who’s only tame for you? That was Cat. Cat hated everyone – but me. She would sit under my bed or under the coffee table, and slash out with her claws at anyone who came near. She would make these noises… panthers in the Amazonian rain forest should have such a scary voice! But for me? She would come and curl on my lap and purr at me… just like this… or sit up and put her paws on my shoulder and butt me under the chin with her head… I could tell Cat anything.”

Hartley continued to write in his journal, seemingly paying no attention to his guest. 

“Hey, Anna. Have you ever had kittens? Cat never did. She was spayed before she got a chance. Were you a good mom? I bet you were. I bet you protected them, and loved them, and... and... I don’t know how to do that! Oh god, Dr. Reid is right, I’m going to be a horrible mom! I’m gonna ruin poor little Meredith Joy, damage her irreparably, even before she’s born! 

“It seems like everything is getting way out of control! I’m a zed, for god’s sake! How the hell did that happen? How could I even know… and then suddenly I’m pregnant! Me! The guy consistently voted the least likely person in the *entire* universe to make a good parent! Reid’s right, I’m going to be awful at it! How the hell am I supposed to do this? And it’s not like Colonel James T. Kirk is going to be any better at it than me… if my parents were the worst in Canada, his dad is probably trying for the worst in the US. And once Sheppard realises how hopeless I am at relationships of *any* kind, he’s going to leave, and then what’s poor little Meredith Joy going to do? I have absolutely no one to model good parenting behavior on… except maybe Teyla… do you think she and DiNozzo will take Meredith Joy? To save her from me, like they saved little Tali?”

Hartley blinked, and ventured, “How do you know you’ll be a bad parent? Most of it is instinct. Or-or, or so I’ve heard.”

“Not for my parents, it wasn’t. They hated and feared me on sight. My sister Jeannie, she was the pretty one, the easy one, always happy and smiling, always sunny… she had the knack of getting along with people... who wouldn’t like a happy little Shirley Temple, tap-tap-tap dancing her way through life? I was the one who cried and rebelled and got into trouble, seems like I had a target on my back from every bully in the known universe… I was hard to love. They told me this. More times than I can count.”

Okay, Hartley had to grant, that was not what he could consider good parental instincts… 

“I have literally no one I can model parental behavior on, apart from Teyla. I’m terrified I’ll be a bad parent to Meredith Joy. And with my brain, and Sheppard’s Mensa scores, Meredith Joy is going to be another genius. Her potential is going to be… infinite, unless I start twisting her with doubts and criticisms and denial… shoving her into a box, neglecting her for my work… I work twenty hours a day as it is, just to keep our heads above water! How do I even have the time or energy for a kid?”

As he developed on this theme, McKay vaulted up from the sofa, dumping an annoyed Anna on her ass, as he paced back and forth, voice raising, speaking faster, hyperventilating. He was quickly revving himself up to some kind of panic attack, and Hartley decided it was time to try and rein him in.

He got up from his desk and stood in the scientist’s way. The man blinked, as if he had actually forgotten the psychologist was present. “Dr. McKay? Dr. McKay! Breathe slowly! In. Out. In. Out. Now count after me, one, three, nine, seven, twelve...”

“What? But... what kind of sequence is—“

“After me. One, five, nine, three, eight, thirteen...”

“One, five, nine, three, eight, thirteen...” McKay blinked, as his breathing slowed, and his heart rate seemed to lower. He placed fingers on his wrist pulse point, and blinked in astonishment. “How... how did that work?”

“Counting numbers out of sequence engages a different part of the brain, distracts us from the more emotional centers, allows us to calm down, so we can begin to cope.”

“How did you know to do that? Something they teach in psychologist school?”

Hartley blushed red in embarrassment. “No, actually, I saw it on a TV show. But it works, so, what the hell? If it works, use it, I say. Try it yourself, next time you feel like you’re panicking.” Hartley took McKay’s shoulders and helped him sit back down on the sofa before returning to his own desk chair.

“You... um... know any other cool tricks for keeping my temper? Because I know I’ve been... way out of control, lately, and getting worse. Dr. Reid was right about that, too.”

“Of course. They really are just tricks, of course... first aid rather than major surgery, but even if they work for a little bit, just to let you get a handle on yourself, maybe it’s worth it. I know I prom-promised to leave you alone, not play the psychologist, but… do you mind if I make a few observations?”

McKay turned to him, blinking, “Oh. Um… no.”

“Okay. You talk about modeling behavior. It occurs to me that you’ve been doing that a lot.”

McKay frowned. “On who?”

“On Cat.”

“What?”

“Think-think about it. Cats, as a rule, are totally oblivious to the opinions of those around them. There’s a quote by Winifred Carrier I like very much… ‘Cats always know when people like or dislike them. They do not always care enough to do anything about it.’ I imagine that goes double for Cat, who doesn’t seem to have had time for anyone but you. Confident, independent, commanding, in control, absolutely immune to the opinions of anyone else. Lots to like there. For a prodigy like yourself, maybe neglected by your family, if not actively shunned, bullied and ostracized by the world for being a smart-ass, I imagine it was reassuring to adopt Cat’s view of everyone around you. After all, as long as you had Cat’s support, why would you need anyone else? Which I find sad… but totally understandable. It would certainly hurt a lot less, if you could tell yourself that it was you and Cat, and no one else really mattered. 

“The problem being, of course, that a coping mechanism that may have worked for you as a child, isn’t doing you any favors as an adult. Maybe what worked for a lonely little boy without emotional support, isolated and beset by bullies, won’t work so well for an adult in command of the science department? You’ve been growling, hissing and slashing out with your claws at everyone, starting with your staff, but maybe even your closest friends. You threatened people, made them cry. And I think you realise that such behavior isn’t the best way to interact with anyone.”

“Did someone complain? Apart from Dr. Reid, I mean.”

“No, your staff is too terrified of you... or too devoted. I-I’m not really sure which. Both probably. But you made Miko cry, and that made everyone unhappy. It probably means you went too far… probably further than you wanted to go, yourself.”

McKay colored in guilt and embarrassment. “No, I… I’d never want to hurt Miko. She’s one of the few I can trust to actually do their job correctly with little to no supervision…”

“You-you are aware that at this stage of your pregnancy, you’re probably prone to a lot of hormonal emotional swings? And flirting with hypoglycemia has also impaired your ability to cope emotionally with stress, quite apart from the potential health risks to you and your baby. That can be some excuse for your behavior, perhaps, but… maybe not a good enough one.”

“No… no. I… I’ll apologize.”

“That would be a good start. But I think you need something to help prevent you acting out again.”

McKay frowned, staring down at Anna, who merely blinked up at him with her McKay-blue eyes. 

“It seems to me that if you could model someone else… someone close, someone you know well and respect…” 

“Like… Teyla?”

“Well yes, that would be a considerable improvement, don’t you think?”

“Of course! Teyla, and Daniel, maybe DiNozzo, are the best people-persons I’ve ever met… They can get along with anyone. But… but… Teyla… she`s perfect! Like Mary Poppins, practically perfect in every way! That… that’s like asking me to be Mother Teresa overnight! Not happening!”

“Yes, maybe that would be a bit drastic... Well then… Baby steps, maybe? How about a little bit of a shift, to start with, rather than a radical sudden change?”

“Such as?”

“Well, from Cat to Anna.”

McKay blinked, slowly sinking back to the sofa, which Anna immediately took as an invitation to reclaim his lap, although she remained sitting, placing her paws on his shoulders and butting her head under his chin. Hartley didn’t think that her echoing Cat’s favorite posture was an accident.

“Anna seems like a much more… um… diplomatic personality. Far less hostile and aggressive. She might not care about the opinions of others either, but she seems willing enough to let them think what they want, and claim the right to ignore them. Right?”

McKay considered this. Hesitantly, he admitted, “Okay… maybe that could work. At least for the job.”

“And in the meantime… if you like… I can suggest some exercises you can use to try and keep your temper under control, and calm yourself when you feel overwhelmed. Even under the barrage of pregnancy hormones that are probably affecting your behavior right now, as well. I can also offer a few parenting books. There’s literally thousands of them, though… and no two parents will ever agree on the proper way to go about raising kids, but… we can talk about it, and you can at least begin to plan for how *you* want to parent, based on the reading list and your observations of Teyla, who, I entirely agree, is a wonderful role model. Even if all you end up doing is using your parents as examples of what *not* to do. And you can ask for her help in this as well. I’m certain she’d be only too glad to offer advice. In my ex-experience, most people are only *too* eager to tell you how you ought to raise your kids.”

McKay considered this. Hesitantly, he admitted, “Okay… maybe I could use some help. Dr. Reid is going to be watching me like a hawk... he already hates me.”

Hartley blinked. “Hate-hates you? Oh, I don’t think so.” 

“Of course he does,” McKay scoffed. “The very first time we met, in my own lab, he was harsh, called me on my outbursts harming my baby, then accused me of emotional abuse of my staff… and he was right about all of it, the only one who’s ever called me on any of it. At the very least, he disapproves of me. I knew he didn’t like the way I act with my staff… and yes, I know I’m hard on them, but… I’m terrified of letting something slip and sinking Atlantis and everyone on board by not being good enough, by not watching everything my staff does, catching all the stupid careless mistakes they all make before they blow us all up... And maybe I’ve been worse lately… hormones or something… but… It’s just…”

Hartley shook his head. “Reid doesn’t hate you... he’s probably worried about you. And Meredith Joy. I think making you try therapy sessions is his way of trying to help you. You have a lot in common, the two of you. You realize this, yes? A fellow zed, pregnant person, genius and former child prodigy. And as our local cop, he’s responsible for the well-being of everyone in the Expedition, just as you are. Just as I am. We all know how vital you are to our safety, Dr. McKay, and the success of our mission. We all want to see you happy and healthy. High blood pressure, panic attacks, self-neglect, out of control temper... none of these are contributing to either happiness or health. For you or Meredith Joy. But... just a question... I know why you’re calling her Meredith. But why Joy?” 

McKay colored bright red. “It’s... it’s how I felt the moment Carson told me...”

Hartley smiled gently. “I totally understand. Hold on to that feeling, Dr. McKay. In the end, I think that’s the life-line you need to connect, not just to your daughter, but to everyone. And talk to Anna. She seems perfectly willing to be a sounding board for you.”

Å 

It took Hartley over an hour to write up his notes from Dr. McKay’s session. He vastly preferred to use a ‘virtual laptop’ of pen and paper for his session notes. Written notes couldn’t be hacked, for one thing, even by the undisputed king of systems, Dr. Meredith Rodney McKay.

The man had a lot of issues he needed to work through, but he also seemed to have a self-awareness of most of them that was rare. McKay knew that he was screwed up, by parents, by his own intelligence, by stress, by his sudden conversion to zed, by his pregnancy and looming parent-hood. And although it would take time, work and patience to help the man deal with these, his newest patient was at least willing to try a few tricks and exercises to deal more effectively with his life as it currently stood. That was a start.

He was going to need a lot of help from Anna, of course. 

Hartley sat back, and invited tiny Emily to join him on his lap. She was about half the size of a normal Earth housecat, one of the Pegasus feral breeds, almost purple in her tabby spot-stripe-swirl patterning. She had managed to stow away in a shipment of crated fruit from one of their trading partners, along with her three brothers, Larry, Darryl and Darryl. The boys were a little bigger than Emily, Larry having lost a chunk of his left ear, the Darryls pretty much indistinguishable from each other. The three males lurked in the lower decks in the hydroponics and botany sections, coming to his quarters for meal times or when there was too much human activity in the gardens with planting or harvesting. 

Bob Hartley hadn’t told anyone about his gender status. He couldn’t think of anyone who really needed to know, but when McKay’s case came up, he knew he had to be the one to help the poor man deal with his new gender status, at least. McKay wasn’t born zed, and was Canadian moreover, so might not know what most American zeds, and even Z-positive circles to some extent, go through, the behaviors they acquire to protect themselves. 

His home town, the small rural Vermont community of Norwich, was perhaps best described as… eccentric. The fiercely independent townsfolk were of the firm belief that any discrimination based on race, creed, religion, national origin, politics, gender… it was a long list… was not just unconstitutional, but un-American. And the idea of branding a baby… horrified everyone. So no child born there was ever listed as zed (although the tests were duly done – then shredded and wiped from any record – so the parents would at least know whether their kid should have a male or female name) or even Z-positive, and no citizen was ever denied education, marriage or public office. 

When Bob went to Harvard for his doctorate in psychology, then moved to Chicago and established his practise, he had found it easy enough to hide his gender. His beloved wife Emily was Z-positive, but was killed by a drunk driver a few years ago. An assistant principal at an elementary school, she seemed to attract certain types of people... troubled kids flocked to her. A neighbour, who was an airline pilot, often came over to visit when stress made his extreme and heightened senses difficult to manage on his own. 

It was Bob’s work on misfits and outliers in society (which pretty much described everyone from his home town, and then his big-city practise) that brought him to the attention of the Atlantis leadership. They had just discovered that they were going to have more zeds than they anticipated, all of whom were in a state of shock regarding their new status, and he was one of the *extremely* few people in the medical profession who had *anything* to say about zeds. His more recent work had referenced Dr. Reid’s outstanding and unprecedented statistical analyses, but even in his doctoral thesis, Bob had discussed the unique challenges zeds faced, as an extension to his work on bullying and discrimination practices for anyone perceived as *different*. 

His point of view was an inevitable result of growing up in Norwich… refuge of nerds, eccentrics, hippies, wounded hermit sentinels and displaced romantics. It was like the town bred the off-beat and unusual. Chicago had its share of such characters too, his practise seemed filled with them. Still grieving his beloved Emily, though, their children grown and moved away, feeling rootless and adrift, he had considered returning home to Norwich, maybe even to buy up the old Stratford Inn to run as a bed and breakfast, as a semi-retirement project… when the offer of a placement with HWS had come up… 

He couldn’t even imagine regretting this decision. 

But as he contemplated McKay’s apparent fear of Dr. Spencer Reid, who seemed a perfectly mild and gentle personality to him… he had to wonder, “What the *hell* is the Reid kid saying to him?”

Å


	3. Assistance Is Futile

Å 

Versions of the story of Rodney McKay’s comeuppance spread far and fast, if not particularly accurately. Panicked calls came into the city from several allies, asking if it was true, that McKay had been tortured, arrested and jailed, or even *executed*. All were reassured that the reprimand was to take much-needed therapy for ongoing personal issues. To which the relieved and understanding reply of “Ohhh,” was universal.

It was, perhaps, Spencer Reid’s demonstrated willingness to arrest *anyone* that resulted in an increase of calls from any and every population with mysteries to solve, or disputes to settle. The subtle distinction between an ‘arrest’ and a ‘reprimand’ was lost on most, and didn’t really matter. After all, it was his dedication to justice and fairness that was the main point. Even with the Genii. Maybe *particularly* with the Genii.

Missions to Genea had to be handled very carefully, Tony had warned Spencer. The militaristic culture they lived under was united only on the surface, the public, outwardly harmless face they showed outsiders. But the new Lanteans were only too aware that below that, the people seethed with all the usual human frailties… ambition, resentment, fractured loyalties… and for every three Genii, five different opinions about the best, most efficient action to take to achieve their goals. So, yes, there was all the usual criminal activity you might expect to find in a similar sized population on Earth, estimated at perhaps ten to twenty thousand. But with the political games the Genii seemed prone to, any accusations of treason might be covers for just about anything. 

So when the Genii leadership bit the bullet to admit they needed expert help in some internal problem… Richard Woolsey was only too anxious to offer help, and Tony DiNozzo only too wary of what might lie behind the scenes. But Spencer, with his secret Furalin super powers, was more than equal to the task, and, Tony had to admit, with some sense of pride and relief, the profiler was even better at navigating fraught political situations than he was. 

So, over the next month, with Tony still tied to the city on Carson’s orders, along with a surprisingly temperate and acquiescent McKay, Spencer answered the increasing number of call-outs, keeping a packed go bag under his desk, ready to trot along on any mission. With AR-5 firmly attached to his six, of course.

And, in the executive offices of the city, as more and more requests came in for, specifically, the ‘Magic Veralin’, Woolsey, Carter and O’Neill had to wonder… “What the *hell* is that Reid kid saying to people?” 

Å 

When AR-5 returned from their latest escort mission, and had to make use of a gurney *again*… Major Anne Teldy was inclined to be… irate. Following on her heels, the Pegasus lynx, Orion, black tufted ears, bobbed tail, his coat light beige with a pattern of black spots, swirls and stripes, still had his hackles raised, side-stepping and hissing at everyone and everything.

“You *know* Colonel Mitchell is going to give me hell, the minute he gets back!” Anne rounded on her FBI team-mate. “What the hell were you thinking, tackling that guy on your own? He was obviously wigged out on Wraith enzyme… those damned back eyes are a give-away… and you *know* those guys have enhanced strength and speed! I thought you had *some* sense, Dr. Reid!”

Spencer sighed. “I’m no happier about this than you are, Major, I assure you. I think I sprained my ankle, and that could ground me for a week… unless, of course, Carson carries through on his threat, and grounds me until I give birth, like he has McKay, and now Tony. And one of us has to be available for these calls.”

Anne Teldy eyed him sardonically. “Jeez, whatever did we do before we had an NCIS office on Atlantis? Oh, wait… my team took those local assistance calls! And since I’m Veralin too… I’m just gonna have to be good enough for the next call-out. And serve you damned well right!”

As the medical staff pushed Spencer to the transport cabinet, Dr. Alison Porter gave him a sympathetic shrug, Captain Laura Cadman a jaunty wink, then both trailed after their team-lead and team-mate Sgt. Dusty Mehra. Major Evan Lorne was waiting for them on the Command Deck, motioned them to the conference room for de-brief. 

He smiled wryly at his fellow team leader. “Curse of the trouble-magnet strikes again?”

Anne scowled. “Oh, if it were only that. I’m beginning to think the man has a hero complex, although he assures me that’s only for people who cause dangerous situations in the first place so they can ride to the rescue. Which apparently lets him off the hook, because his dangerous situations are pre-existing. But he’s got four of us ready and able to intervene… and that’s not even including my Orion here, who would like nothing better than the chance to get scrappy, and yet he keeps stepping up himself.”

“Did I hear you say something about Wraith enzyme?”

“Wraith-worshippers. About half a dozen walked into that village, big as life, started throwing their weight around… Evan, they were doing it on purpose. They knew the locals would call for us. For the ‘Magic Veralin’. It was a god-damned set-up. And Reid knew it, the moment we set foot on that planet.”

So did Anne, actually. She was not nearly so averse to using her zed powers to their fullest extent as the ethically-minded FBI profiler. They might not be shouting it from the roof-tops, that the zeds on Atlantis all possessed gnarly psychic powers… but the rumors got around regardless. No one bothered trying to lie to either Tony or Reid any more. And Anne very much doubted if there was a single inhabited planet in the Pegasus galaxy that hadn’t heard of their ‘Magic Veralin’. The stories about him were spreading like wild-fire. Bad enough if they were being embellished into the mythical stratosphere… But they really didn’t need much embellishment to begin with.

“Let me guess. He tried to talk them down.”

Anne gave him a lifted eye-brow, and Lorne sighed. “And he actually managed to do it.”

“All but one really big guy who was a little too far gone on the enzyme to listen to reason.” Or respond to a mental command that would send them home, and keep them from ever returning. “Me and the team were getting the others corralled and headed back to the gate, and I swear, I only turned my back for an instant… and the big guy was diving for one of the local elders. Reid got in the way.”

“Of course he did.” Lorne shook his head, even as they sat around the conference table, opening tablets to begin the official (and carefully scrubbed) mission debrief. “You caught a bit of a break… Reid should be out of the infirmary before SG-1 get back from their latest mission. So Colonel Mitchell will go yell at him first before he comes looking for you guys.”

“That’s so *special*,” Anne huffed.

Å 

Carson wasn’t any happier when he saw Spencer being wheeled into the medical section. Resigned, maybe, but not happy. At his side, the grey tabby Galen gave Bast a pointed look, as if she should have been able to prevent this. Bast hissed in offense. As if.

“Spencer, lad…”

“I know, Carson. I’m sorry…”

“Sorry won’t do much good if you go too far one of these days, and do serious damage to yourself! And not just yourself, but Dimmy and JJ too!”

It was Tony who had begun referring to Diana Maeve as Dimmy. The name had caught on quickly, and Spencer had bowed to the inevitable.

Carson continued to grumble and berate, and Spencer, feeling much accustomed guilt for having got carried away yet again, laid back and took it as his due. The ankle was sprained, not broken, and would need to be kept elevated and weight off it for a few days. Carson wrapped it up tightly as he called for crutches to be brought in. Spencer was pleased enough to report he was accomplished at wielding the devices, from the time he was recovering from a gunshot to the knee.

Running out of gas on his lecture… futile as it probably was, even in his own mind, Carson finished with, “I have reason to believe zed pregnancies are almost supernaturally safe and successful, based purely on the statistics you were able to provide me, but still… Spencer, lad, you’re barely finished the first trimester, and neither of the wee bairns can survive without you at this point! Keep that in mind, please! I already have Tony on bed rest until his condition stabilizes. That punch to the stomach he took from the murderer you caught a few weeks ago… false labor for two days… potassium treatments to try and get him back on track… the more time he can give TJ the better at this stage. The wee bairn needs this last month to strengthen his lungs, heart and immune system. We aren’t exactly geared up for premature births.”

That had been hard on Tony, but Teyla had absolutely put her foot down, and even Spencer had given him the ‘disappointed’ face until he caved and accepted that he was far too close to giving birth to be running around (more waddling around, really) on planets and arresting people. 

“Really, Carson, I do understand! And I am truly sorry. But sometimes… it just isn’t possible to avoid all risk.”

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to, Spencer! It’s Dimmy and JJ who will suffer the consequences.”

“Ouch,” commented a voice from the treatment room door. Cam Mitchell stood there, leaning on the frame, wincing, then glowering at the profiler as Spencer took the crutches from an orderly, and got himself upright.

Spencer wholly agreed with the expressed opinion. He glanced at Bast, and saw no sympathy there at all. She was pissed at him, too. 

“Oh, by the way, Carson… is there any… news?”

Carson sighed. “I’m still scouring every medical study I can get my hands on… nothing so far, Spencer. But I’ll keep on.”

Spencer nodded, then expertly maneuvered himself into the corridor on his way to the mess hall, Cam a dark and malevolent presence at his back, no doubt impatient for a moment of privacy to deliver his own lectures. 

Å 

Spencer had conferred with Jahar and the Furalin, but none of the Pegasus natives had any experience of the various forms of mental illness, as Earth knew them. Did this mean they were immune to them, as his mother believed? He had taken the question to Carson, who had scratched his head and started to raid any information source he could… only to be frustrated, as Spencer usually was, by the dearth of medical studies that included or even referenced zeds. 

In the Pegasus galaxy, Spencer could easily speculate that two factors explained the lack of knowledge. For one, there were very few societies large or advanced enough to have been able to devote study to *any* form of disease, to the point where they could draw conclusions or develop treatments. The Hoff had been almost unique in that regard, the Genii focused exclusively on military and arms development, the Travelers on keeping their rusted fleet space worthy. Second… it was clearly a matter of harsh and brutal survival. When you were running from the Wraith, anything or anyone who would slow you down had to be worth the risk. A loved one, or a valued contributor to your community. Did the mentally ill or those suffering age-related impairments count? And if they were loved enough, wouldn’t any attempt to save them take you down as well? The people of the Pegasus galaxy just did not have a lot of chronic or serious illnesses… not for long, not past the next culling. And one of the reasons their ‘elders’ were so venerated, was because so few actually made it to old age. 

To even think that taking the ATA gene therapy might be a treatment for certain illnesses in Z positive patients… was so radical it had Carson blinking and distracted for days. Spencer could relate. To consider the implications… that becoming Furalin could be a rational and deliberate choice… Daniel’s revelation, when he had decided to chose a side, and so had taken the gene therapy that he knew would transform him into a zed, had shaken Spencer badly, too. At first he could not even imagine any other Earth Z positive being willing to make that choice… until he thought of his mother’s situation. What if Diana Reid was right? What if zed morphology, that so altered one’s entire hormone profile and sexual identity, had similar effects on every cell in the body, the mind? What if the ATA therapy could wipe away her schizophrenia and age-related dementia at a single stroke? 

Posing this question to Carson was only the start of Spencer’s current campaign. They were still trying to keep the ATA-zed connection secret from the IOA, and had so far been miraculously (and mysteriously?) successful. Apparently, if Eli David knew, he hadn’t bothered reporting it to anyone. And after the kerfuffle with McKay, Spencer and Tony had united to force O’Neill, as Director of Home World, to act on behalf of the newly at-risk zeds, enabling them to apply for, and receive, citizenship to the countries of their choice. So Canada, Australia, New Zealand and Great Britain had acquired several new citizens. Miko Kusanagi had chosen Canada, for reasons best known to herself.

So, conferring with a stunned General O’Neill, Colonel Carter and Mr. Woolsey, Spencer had at least been able to get them to agree to try and get Diana Reid brought to Atlantis, as his sole dependant. He was certain she would have no objection to becoming zed, whether it was a cure for her afflictions or not, as a willing test case. If he was lucky, whether the transformation had any beneficial effects or not, he could have his mother present for the birth of Dimmy and JJ… another six months or so, and therefore perhaps possible, even given the snail-like speed of IOA bureaucracy.

As for Daniel… Carson was keeping a very close eye on him, tracking the progression of his conversion. There was no doubt at all the linguist was on a fast track to change, but the stages, at least, would offer valuable information on the process. Already, the cats of Atlantis were watching him. 

And then, just last week, two months to the day since Daniel took the ATA therapy… Aten arrived in stately majesty.

Å 

Ronon was having a grand time telling the story. 

He happened to be on the Command Deck, chatting up Amelia Banks the gate tech, when the SGC dialed in. There would be the usual data burst, of course, but they were also expecting personnel reinforcements and supply shipments of non-essential, so-called ‘luxury’ items only their smugglers had been able to procure for them before now, like special-order coffees and teas, sporting goods for Tony’s intramural sports initiative, personal-care products, off-duty clothing, personal mail, and décor items. And, usually, the executive office took advantage of the open connection to make video-conferencing calls.

So everyone paused and turned to watch the incoming splash.

As soon as the blue pool settled… 

A large, white, long-haired cat with brilliant blue eyes sauntered through, as self-assured as if he ruled the universe. Paying no attention to the drop-mouthed gawkers, he proceeded to the nearest exit off the stargate staging level. A bemused Ronon, the only one present without an actual duty there, trailed after the animal. It knew exactly where it wanted to go, apparently. Ronon entered the transport cabinet with it, prepared to touch the mess hall icon… when the cat reared on its hind feet, and pawed a specific section of the city map. It took them to the West pier, Tower five, the sciences domain, and the seventeenth floor, one of those devoted to the ‘soft’ sciences… anything that wasn’t actual physics or engineering, as far as McKay was concerned.

The creature waited patiently enough for the door to open on the corridor, then ambled through, with his silky snow-white tail waving gently over his back, making vague question mark shapes. Without a lock in place, any door on the city would open to motion or a detected living presence, so when the cat stopped at one particular door, it slid back without a murmur. 

Inside was Dr. Daniel Jackson, bent over a console monitor, empty coffee cup at one elbow, empty plate of crumbs at another, so deep in concentration he completely missed the arrival of his visitors. 

Now definitely entertained, Ronon leaned against the wall, arms folded, to await events. 

The cat went right up to the archeologist and sat, staring up with focused attention. 

The man continued with his reading, totally oblivious. Ronon had to suppress a chuckle, because, really, that cat was going to bore a hole in the side of the man’s head at this rate. 

Apparently, the cat was willing to be patient only to a point, because after barely a minute, it meowed… loudly. 

“Hm? Oh, not yet, Vala. I just have to finish this entry…”

Not happy with this response, or lack thereof, the cat swatted a paw at the nearest ankle.

That at least brought the man’s sandy-blond head up, to blink around him, finally noting Ronon smirking by the door. When the big Satedan pointed a finger down… Daniel followed, and stared down into eyes the exact same color as his own. 

“Oh. Hello.” 

The cat waited… then huffed, and jumped into a lap not precisely ready to receive him. Startled, Daniel pushed back from the desk, and made the necessary room. 

Ronon grinned. “You’re a Veralin now. That’s your cat.”

“Um…”

“Better give him a name, before he picks one for himself.”

“Um…” Daniel stared down into blue, blue eyes. “Um… how about… Aten? The sun disk.”

Kneading and then settling in his Veralin’s lap, Aten seemed satisfied with the name of an Egyptian god who had the first monotheistic religion devoted to him… perfectly happy to have all worshippers to himself.

Å 

Bast pretty much hated the new guy. Well, maybe not hated, exactly, but hissed and warned him off any time they met. Aten mostly ignored her, supremely oblivious to all but his own Furalin. 

It was Spencer’s understanding that most white cats, especially those with blue eyes, suffered from congenital deafness, but then… it was difficult with cats, to tell the difference between not being able to hear, and not bothering to listen. Aten’s issue definitely seemed to be the latter.

And although Daniel had not yet joined them in the Spirit Plane, Aten was right there beside Anna, the big white Persian morphing into a huge albino white crow, shoving aside the polar bear. Neither familiar had cared much that their Furalins were not able, or not willing, to join them here. They kept a place, and that was enough. 

In fact, Rodney McKay was being positively stubborn about opening up to his Furalin nature. Spencer was beginning to suspect it was part-and-parcel with the reason the Chief Science Officer was continuing to avoid Spencer, and Tony, like the plague. Although, the CSO might just still be stinging from Spencer forcing him into sensitivity training and anger management therapy… 

Carson was also having trouble manifesting with his red stag, but then, his ‘original’ had also had a mental block about the ATA gene, and their current Carson seemed to have inherited similar issues.

Å 

Jack O’Neill was, once again, elbow deep in reports. As part of her passive-aggressive revenge for his being a complete and utter prick to her for years, Carter had made him responsible for ‘editing’ any reports going back to the SGC, HWS and IOA. And what a lot of editing they required, too! He figured it would only get worse if Dr. Reid was right, and zed conversion was a cure-all for… practically anything, from cancer to old age afflictions to mental illness to allergies, as he understood it. Beckett was still shuddering in reaction after McKay bit into a cranberry muffin that had got on the wrong shelf at the mess, not labelled as containing citrus, something that might have killed the Canadian from anaphylactic shock before his conversion, only to have him comment dryly that it tasted a bit on the tart side to him. 

Yeah… how the hell was any of *that* going to fly back home? He was almost relieved that the IOA was stone-walling the application for Diana Reid’s relocation to Atlantis.

But that was just the start of it. DiNozzo and Reid had come to him, Sam and Richard after Reid’s first week on the city, with an *extremely* confidential confession. Gnarly psychic super-powers. Yeah. Sure. Why not. And the legacy of the Z chromosome was straight from the Furling race, who were all ZZ, apparently. Oh yeah, that at least made some sense… Aliens were responsible. Of course they were. With great reluctance, Jack let go his fond thoughts of furry little ewoks, replaced by humanoids with zed pattern mottling all over. But having come clean, Dr. Reid in particular wanted the three administrators in charge of the city to become the final authority on when and how he could use his more invasive abilities. He made the analogy of getting a judge’s warrant for a search and seizure of private property. 

Now *when* had Jack signed up to be the conscience of a psi-cop? The very next call to AJ Chegwidden had at least been satisfying in telling the retired vice admiral that he was on the hook for their home-grown zeds to do the same. And that wasn’t the only time Reid had managed to make Jack’s life difficult… 

That stubborn kid had actually had the fourteen carat nerve to threaten to arrest and sanction McKay for harassment and emotional abuse of his staff! Well, of course McKay emotionally abused his staff! He was McKay, after all… but no one had ever actually insisted on *doing* something about it, until Dr. Spencer Reid put his foot down and got in everyone’s faces. The rules had to apply to everyone, or they could not be enforced at all, he insisted, and he was right about that, too. And no matter who tried to intimidate him and get him to back down, the kid stood his ground. And when appealed to, DiNozzo backed him up, to the hilt. 

Dr. Reid was right – McKay needed to find better coping mechanisms for handling his temper and his stress… well, *obviously*! But no one else had ever forced the issue, or made any serious attempt to actually address it. And, much to Jack’s shock, the one person who made absolutely no effort to escape the reprimand or the consequences, was McKay himself. He’d gone totally silent on the subject, and simply went to his mandated therapy sessions with one of the psychology staff. Nobody had been more astounded than Sheppard for that incredible turn of events. 

And Jack had found, just to add to the shock, that *everyone* on Atlantis had settled in relief, the slowly ramping levels of stress defused in an instant. Seeing that even the executive staff weren’t immune to the rules, and that McKay had already begun to act with more circumspection around his ‘minions’, had helped relieve a lot of tensions no one had consciously been aware of before. Respect for their Agents Afloat has soared among almost everyone, seeing how determined DiNozzo and Reid were to do their jobs without fear or favor. Especially among the Pegasus natives. And the military, who began to open up to their NCIS liaison, regardless of his gender status. 

And although over all, Dr. Reid was doing just as well as DiNozzo, both rating one hundred percent on successfully completed missions, they were also batting five hundred on returning with some kind of injury. DiNozzo’s last had benched him for the duration of his pregnancy, thank god, no way Jack wanted that kind of accident to happen on his watch. He was daily expecting Beckett to bench Reid, too, the sooner the better. Already, Jack was getting an itchy feeling in his gut… the profiler’s last two outings, calls specifically for the ‘Magic Veralin’, had been traps. Someone, probably of the Wraith persuasion, wanted Reid. And there was no way that could be a good thing. Problem was, they knew just the right way to go about getting him… make innocent people the bait, and Reid would go running, every damn time. So much like Daniel, it made his heart hurt. 

Oh, and, speaking of Daniel…

*WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK WAS HE THINKING?!?*

Maybe he should have seen it coming, that Daniel’s mind had gone straight from Z-ATA zeds to deliberately signing up for a conversion himself, but he hadn’t and…

*WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK WAS HE THINKING?!?*

Daniel, a zed? Daniel, with lady bits? Sooner rather than later, much sooner, according to Beckett… Daniel, with a slowly expanding middle as he…

Whoa! Not there, not again! Jack had no damn control over his dreams, but he could damn well keep that out of his waking thoughts! He’d been keeping his damn hands, and his more lascivious thoughts, off Daniel from the first day they met. Damn long-haired dweeb… damn bleeding heart hero of the revolution on Abydos… damn adorable, stubborn, idealistic, frustrating, brilliant, errant, courageous, trouble-magnet, noble, flaky four-eyed geek… 

In the past, Jack had relied heavily on him being married, then internalized homophobia, then DADT, then occasional ascensions, then his own stupid dalliances with Sam (which, he now recognized, were nothing but avoidance techniques for a man in deep denial of his true feelings), then the accumulated years of ingrained habit, a comfortable and long-standing status quo of acting like an old married couple... 

And now Daniel was going to be a zed? Holy Hannah! And, for crying out loud…

*WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK WAS HE THINKING?!?*

Jack was just glowering over the last report from AR-5 when his distracted thoughts were rudely and abruptly interrupted. 

“Got a bone to pick with you, sir!” announced Cam Mitchell. 

Oh yeah. Dr. Reid had come back from another mission banged up. Without a word, even restraining a sigh, Jack motioned Cam to a seat, and an obliging Atlantis shut the door and clouded the walls for privacy.

“Go ahead, Cam.”

“What the hell, sir! When you brought me on board for Atlantis, I thought the idea was that I was supposed to be here to partner Reid! So, just why the hell is it always Teldy’s team who takes him out, while I get the pig-in-a-poke missions to find Furlings?”

Yeah, a lot of things had changed in that first week they arrived on the city. 

It had seemed like good sense and efficient use of resources, to put SG-1 on the missions to find the Furling. It wasn’t as if Daniel would stand for any other team getting those assignments, or if they did, had even a ghost of a chance of succeeding, better than their number one first contact specialist. 

AR-1 was tied up in missions to explore the Lantean sites on the Asuran data crystal they had been given. No one was really prepared to trust the info was legit, and not an elaborate machine-devised trap of some kind… Dr. Reid was pretty sure it was okay, the Asuran ‘good faith’ gesture, enabling Atlantis to defend itself, even from the Asurans (not to mention the bonus of repelling other enemies, Wraith, rogue Genii, and the Lucian Alliance, if those cockroaches ever got this far). The fact that the Asurans had been conspicuous in their absence the past two months seemed to support the profiler’s belief. 

Already, the information had panned out to an astonishing degree. One Alteran ship yard and repair station (with one Aurora-class battleship almost complete), one derelict city half covered by a lava flow, and, on McKay’s last mission with them, an actual ZPM build-and-charge facility. All three were in pretty bad shape after ten thousand years of abandonment, but there was enough left of all three to get at least some systems up and running, and to scavenge for needed repair parts for the others. Who knew what goodies were hidden away at the other locations, so *someone* pretty much had to go check them all out. Even with McKay side-lined, Sheppard’s ATA-gene made AR-1 the best candidates for that, with a revolving list of scientists to fill out the team, competent enough to assess and identify, if not adequately replace McKay in other ways. 

AR-2, Lorne’s team, included a botanist, Dr. David Parrish, so they got most of the trade or survey missions where food or medicines was the goal, still in the top three priorities for the remote base. Being self-sufficient on the food front was only good sense. AR-3 and AR-4 were their negotiating teams, well versed in the Pegasus political situation, and Richard went out with one or other of them more often than not. 

But that left the problem of who to send with their two zed cops. Jack had been somewhat startled to learn just how many calls they got for Very Special Agent Tony, requests from allies and trading partners, or even off the wall friends-of-friends contacts, calls that could be for an ‘arbitrator’ in what Jack considered civil suits, an ‘investigator’ for almost any mystery, missing kids, missing property, missing villages… there were also off-world crime calls, many from the Genii (not rogues, the actual Genea Genii had a large population that was prone to conflict, go figure), and even Atlantis assignments to locate missing team members, or corral naughty city residents. 

But almost from that first unexpected call-out to the Asuran hostage situation, requests began to pour in for the ‘Magic Veralin’, as well. Word had got out *fast*. So had the tag-line that was being repeated everywhere, practically over-night, ‘Everything is magic’. With it had come a new sense of hope for the people of an embattled galaxy. Spencer blushed over his new title, but his magic tricks were a great and proven ice-breaker, and kids loved them. 

So as far as Jack was concerned, Teldy’s team was ideal for the job of backing up their two space-cops. Guaranteed zed-friendly and totally bad-ass.

“You honestly think you can do a better job of reining in the good doctor than Teldy? For one thing, she’s bad-ass, her whole team is, she’s Veralin herself, they’re all devoted to DiNozzo and Reid, and from the un-expurgated reports I’ve been reading, there’s no way anyone else would do any better watching Reid’s six. Not even you, Cam. Now, maybe trying to track down the Veralin and the Furlings is a bit of a snipe hunt, you could be right about that, but if we do locate one of their colonies, I want Daniel front and center to meet them. And I want you, and Teal’c, on his six. If Teldy’s the expert on protecting the Veralin, Magic or not, then you’re the only person, apart from me, who knows Daniel well enough to keep him from getting himself eaten out there in the wild and wooly Pegasus galaxy. Now, so far, the bad guys out there don’t seem to realize Daniel is our secret weapon, and I want it kept that way.”

Cam’s eyes narrowed. “They do, however, have a big ol’ target on Reid’s back. This last mission, and the one before, were traps. We both know it. The Wraith are after him, sir.”

Jack considered this. “Yeah. Okay, you’re right. So how about this… we rearrange the schedule so you can do both. You lead SG-1 to help Daniel find his Furlings, then you assist Major Teldy as… supplemental escort support. Now, if you try to lead her ladies, they’ll tear your balls off. But you can back them up. You okay with that?”

Cam scowled, clearly disgruntled by even that much of a compromise. “Why can’t SG-1 just alternate Furling missions with Reid escort?”

Jack blinked. 

“Jealous, Cam? Can’t be Teldy or Porter, they’re a pair, and have no interest in guys anyway… Is it Dusty, or Cadman? Wait, Cadman is still chasing Beckett, so… Dusty Mehra?!”

Cam glowered. Jack sighed. 

“Get your act together, Cam. Supplemental escort and back-up is the best deal I’ve got going at the moment. You gonna take it?”

“Sir… yes sir.”

“Fine then. Off you go.”

Jack had to admit, the Reid kid was a trouble magnet of the first order. Maybe, just maybe, worse than even Daniel. But he was also something of a catalyst, again, just like Jack’s favorite archeologist. Wherever they went, they brought change, like a cleansing wind. And Jack had to wonder… “What the *hell* is that Reid kid saying to people?”

As soon as his prize colonel trotted off to grumble in private about the stupidity and injustice of superior officers, Jack began to regret chasing him off so soon. It just left him with his own annoying, uncomfortable and malevolent thoughts. 

*WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK WAS HE THINKING?!?*

Å 

Spencer hobbled into the mess hall, and almost at once, Miko was at his side, taking his tray, precariously held in one hand, to load up his plate with healthy food choices. Which was fine with him… he knew he needed to eat better in his condition. But the Japanese (or rather, Canadian?) astrophysicist had already finished her own meal, and had actually been on her way back to the labs… so once she deposited him at his regular table, she bowed, said something under her breath, then rushed away, no doubt worried about appearing late, or less than dedicated. 

Miko was an interesting person, Spencer had discovered. Although the ingrained behavior of her native culture made her public persona extremely traditional… shy, retiring, deferential to any males in the room, and above all quiet… Spencer frequently caught her expressing decidedly non-deferential opinions in private, her voice raised above a whisper, hands fluttering as she waved them about to diffuse the energy of her passion for whatever subject engrossed her. Radek often was able to spur her into excited exchanges of a scientific nature, while McKay daily drove her to frustrated outbursts in the lab, mostly at some obstinacy she could not abide, or in his failure to take his advanced pregnancy seriously. 

Rodney may have toned down the rants and verbal attacks, but he hadn’t had a complete personality transplant. He still was inclined to pull absurd hours in the labs, to live off coffee, chocolate and power bars when he ate at all, given the choice. He was no longer getting that choice. Evgenia and Miko double-teamed the Canadian, driving him to bed or to the mess hall for hot and healthy meals, and then ganged up on Colonel Sheppard, telling him off in no uncertain terms for letting his love get away with such conduct… in his condition. And after his deplorable exhibition in the labs, McKay felt just guilty enough to listen and obey them.

But, curiously to most, rather than loudly berate any of his ‘minions’ when his micro-management of the labs caught them out in even minor mistakes, or, worse, failure to observe the tight safety protocols he insisted upon… he had begun a practice of dropping signed slips of paper on desks, called ‘McKay Demerits’. Get enough McKay Demerits, and you got an official reprimand for dereliction, negligence and/or basic stupidity. So far, no one had got enough MDs to put them on report, so the new system was working well. Anyone wishing to challenge an MD had to go through Radek, as Rodney’s second in command, and Radek had verified that all MDs so far had been for cause. 

Carson, too, was watching his three pregnant zeds with laser focus, just one more accident away from grounding the last of them. 

Waving good bye and calling thanks to Miko, Spencer looked around and realized that, for once, he was without babysitters. This was an exceedingly rare situation for him, even two months into his residence on Atlantis. It was a little past the usual meal hour, so none of the usual suspects were around. AR-1 was in the middle of a ten-day mission… they had already visited the sites from the Asuran data crystal that were close to a stargate… now they were taking a puddle jumper on longer commutes. SG-1 was due out that evening to the latest possible address for a Furling colony… although Daniel had expressed doubt that this one was going to pan out, either. But it meant the team was meeting for a pre-mission briefing. At least, Spencer reflected, that got Cam off his back for a little bit. 

And his Boss, of course, should be at his family quarters, looking after Torren and Tali while Teyla was out, and resting himself and TJ. Even Edmund Black, Baldrick and the British dig team were out looking at some ruin found in the first year of the Expedition, that no one had had the time or opportunity to study as it deserved, with AR-6 as back-up. AR-5 was enjoying their down-time in the training rooms, as usual. Anne was something of a bear about her ladies being field-ready, fit and prepared. 

So, what with one thing and another, Spencer was, for once, eating on his own. 

Until…

Evgenia stalked over with a reluctant Yuri Yashkin, her own personal security when in the field. She wasn’t tugging on his ear, but she might as well have been, her whole attitude screaming a grandmother who had lost patience with a misbehaving child. She was definitely shoving him firmly from behind, and sternly pointed to the bench opposite Spencer until Yuri had dropped his tray down, scowling at her, and absolutely refusing to even look at Spencer. 

“You do not combat fear with ignorance, Young Yuri. You face it and study it until you understand it. You, a big strong brave soldier, should know this. So you will sit and talk to Dr. Reid, and you will show proper respect. Now, I have to help Miko on a project in the labs that we want completed before Dr. McKay returns from his nap and decides he has to do it himself. So you boys… talk. Get to know each other. Who knows, you might even become friends. But at least you will stop being strangers and enemies!”

With that, she left the two men to sit awkwardly, staring at their plates. 

“Um… is she gone?” Spencer would have to turn in his seat to watch the doors. 

Yuri glanced warily up, then admitted. “Da. She is gone.”

Spencer puffed out in relief. “Okay then. There’s no need for you to stay. I know I make you uncomfortable.”

Yuri gave him a jaundiced glance. “What, you think she will not find out if I dare disobey? Hunh. So little you know of grandmothers.”

Spencer sighed. “Well, no. I only have my mother, and mostly she wasn’t well enough to watch my every step… but… yeah, if there was ever a secret I didn’t want her to know…”

Yuri nodded bitterly. “Da. I have heard Americans say… they have eyes in the back of their heads. So it is with my mother. Even with five of us to watch over, none of us ever got away with a thing. And while my brothers and sisters were all angels of perfection, smart, successful, good at school… then there was me, the youngest, the screw-up, the army the only chance at my getting anywhere…”

Spencer blinked at the man before him. Before smiling slyly. “Well, you’ve kind of trumped them now, haven’t you? You’re the one who made it to space… all the way to the fabled lost city of Atlantis.”

Yuri turned startled eyes on Spencer, then blinked around him… like Spencer himself, the other man must sometimes want to pinch himself… it still caught Spencer at the oddest times… that no matter what hardships, traumas or tragedies lay in his past… look where he was now! And how perfectly awesome was that? 

“I’ve heard it said that living well is the best revenge.”

Slowly, Yuri grinned at him. Then he raised his coffee mug, and Spencer clinked with him in a toast to their good fortune.

A loud group of soldiers entered the mess, no doubt just finishing a weapons qualification session to judge by the trash-talk about scores. It was AR-19, minus their team lead Major Miller, a group Yuri had often spent time with in the past two months, when not with other Russians. 

Spencer turned to look over his shoulder… He had to admit, he didn’t much care for the three men. Captain Groves in particular seemed to be carrying a king-sized grudge against zeds… or maybe just against him. It was not lost upon Spencer that Groves had been one of Sgt. Donnetti’s best customers for contraband cigarettes and liquor. Spencer studied Yuri’s reaction to the other men arriving, and wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. Then he repeated his offer, “It’s okay if you want to join them.”

Yuri sighed. “No… is okay. They… is okay. You tell me, what is it you like best about the city?”

Spencer started to reply, when three quarters of AR-19 arrived at their table, and without invitation, settled themselves in next to Yuri with coffee and snacks. 

“Well well. Dr. Reid,” sneered Groves, making his title and name sound like an insult. “Here without any of your babysitters? How often does that happen?”

Spencer blinked up at the big red-haired officer. He had found that being oblivious, obtuse and absolutely literal flummoxed most bullies who attempted verbal battle with him. “Not often, that’s perfectly true.” 

Yuri frowned at him, then glanced at the others, and his eyes widened, as if in sudden revelation. 

Å 

Across the room, Ziva kept an eye on the zed’s table. Her feelings about zeds as a species aside… she had come to grudgingly respect that one. Not that they intersected very often. He was almost always in Tony’s pocket when on the city, and Ziva was quite satisfied with the ‘restraining order’ protocols that kept she and Tony well away from each other. But she had learned from Gibbs to recognize competence in investigators and law enforcement, if not wholly respect them, and there was no doubt that Spencer Reid was extremely competent in his job. Plus, hard as she studied him for the telltale signs, he was one of the *least* flirtatious, promiscuous or seductive people, of any gender, she had ever encountered. Adorable, yes, she was forced to grudgingly admit, but angling for a romantic puppet? No. He was playing hard to get, if anything, and it was driving several people mad with frustration. It was actually quite amusing to watch. 

If anything, he reminded her most powerfully of McGee. And that brought with it unaccustomed feelings of regret, remorse, and guilt. Because, in the fallout of her fall from grace at NCIS, it had been Timothy McGee who had paid the highest price. When she had suggested to the impressionable young agent that they play their little trick against Tony… she may have dreamt pleasant dreams of him facing a terrorist and murderer and ending up bleeding out on a suburban doorstep… but McGee, barely trained probie that he was, had not realized that was a serious risk. And neither of them had been prepared for the strength of the reaction among their fellow agents. Rumors of Tony’s gender status aside, he was popular and respected by most everyone, and to think his own partners had betrayed him in such a way was unconscionable to them… especially to Gibbs. You watch your partner’s six, or you are not a partner. It wasn’t a rule, or hadn’t been one… but Gibbs felt Rule One applied in this case. Do not screw over your partner. And in dragging McGee into her vendetta against Tony, she had betrayed them both. 

“I think perhaps you should intervene, Ziva,” her father commented, out of the blue. 

That startled her. “What? Why? Nothing is happening beyond a little bullying.”

“It would be a step toward making friends.”

And, again… “Why?” she challenged directly, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

Eli seemed surprised. Of course he was. When did Ziva ever directly demand answers? “Because I may shortly need you to get close to the good doctor.”

“And again I ask, why? After the history between us, with my often voiced opinion of zeds in general, and my ongoing alliance with the AR-19 anti-zeds… Dr. Reid is not a fool. He will be immediately suspicions.” Just as I am, Ziva thought.

Eli regarded her thoughtfully. “Ongoing? You still spend time with Groves and his minions? In spite of the fact that they are some of the very few people on the city who will even grant you the time of day… it has seemed to me that you have cooled to them rather significantly of late.”

“This is true. I find them… boring and annoying. Extremely. They are cowards and blowhards, and even in their protection detail, they are barely competent. If they were even half as good as they think, they would not be content to simply guard the gate on our missions. They would at the very least know to keep in constant contact with me. You yourself realize they are not to be trusted with any delicate matter, secret, or duty. Well, their boasts and fancies are all the same… what they would do if they ever got one of those effems alone… as if that would even be possible. They have never made so much as one step in any plan… they would be too terrified to even try it, and stand there gawking until their moment passed. And not one of them would be a credible match for Tony, even in his current state. They *might* have a chance against Dr. Reid, if they acted in concert… but… I somehow doubt even that. He has been getting lessons in self-defense from Vala, Teyla and Anne Teldy. Lord knows what they are teaching him… In short, I cannot abide their presence any longer.”

“And could not this fact be useful in justifying a change of heart, no matter how sudden it may seem?”

“Again I ask, to what end, father? We’ve both heard the rumors of him, perhaps, having psychic powers… superstitious nonsense or not, he is an able and skilled profiler. Would it not be dangerous to approach him if our motives were not… pure?”

Eli sipped at his tea and tried to stare down his daughter. But, for once, Ziva was not willing to allow it. She wanted to know, and she would know why he was setting his sights on Dr. Reid, suddenly, when he had ignored him totally before this.

“Our… Genii friends wish a meeting with him. That is the price of their agreement to assist us.”

Ziva’s eyes widened. “And do you have a contingency plan in place? Because, if anything… untoward, should happen to Dr. Reid, and there is even a hint of our involvement… we will have to run, far and fast, to escape retribution. And me suddenly attempting to become his friend? That would be suspicious in and of itself, given the timing.”

Eli nodded slowly. “I quite realize that. Nevertheless… perhaps you could take this rare opportunity to prove yourself his ally.”

Tabling her doubts about this strategy to take out and examine later, Ziva obediently stood and readied herself… only to find it unnecessary.

Å 

Yuri had had enough. These Americans… it had been reassuring, at first, to find his opinions about zeds supported by others of like mind… until Evgenia began to take him to task for un-reasoning and un-examined prejudice. Every negative statement he made, most repeated from something Groves had said over alcohol-soaked poker nights, Evgenia demanded he justify with evidence. And he had none. In fact… even in the privacy of his own mind, he realized a lot of the clichés from movies or television were ridiculous, and had absolutely no relationship to any of the zeds he had actually personally met so far. Quite frankly, McKay even managed to scare him a little. Further, she made him read Dr. Reid’s articles on zeds… and that had been a nasty shock of its own. The unrelenting wave of facts and figures… the deaths, the atrocities, the victimizations… appalled him. It smacked rather too much of the Stalinist purges… his parents and grandparents still vividly remembered those bad old times, in nightmares and shuddering flash-backs, and whispered prayers for still-missing family members.

And now, facing his former ‘friends’ as they attempted to attack and belittle this man for no good reason… taking advantage of his being alone with his lunch… It was such a blatant example of unacceptable bullying that even Yuri had to protest. 

Which he did. “Stop! We did not ask you to join us. You don’t like the company, go find your own. Now!”

Groves looked up, shocked. He had considered Yashkin a rare acceptable Russian… until now. “What the hell, Ruski? What’s got into you?”

“Sense!” Yuri countered at once. “Go now, I said. Leave us in peace. We were having nice conversation until you interrupt with your filth. Go!”

Groves stood, Lorenzo and Snider at his back, all of them glowering angrily. “Fine! You want to be a lousy effem-lover, you go ahead. But you stay away from us!”

The three men stalked right out of the mess hall… watched by an awful lot of people who were ready, willing and able to rat them out at the very earliest opportunity to their superiors for conduct unbecoming. None of the three were all that popular around the city. They were known to be bullies, not just to zeds, but everyone, never having any difficulty finding a reason to target aliens, chicks, blacks, slant-eyes, egg-heads, ferriners, flyboys, ground-pounders or squids. They were mean drunks, too, or maybe just mean. A growing pile of complaints, repeated warnings and reprimands in their jackets, were making it highly unlikely they would remain on the city for long.

Spencer sighed. “I’m sorry about that, Mr. Yashkin.”

Yuri still glowered at the backs of those men. “Nothing to do with you, Dr. Reid. And call me Yuri. You didn’t deserve that, just because I was sitting here.”

“You think they were here because of you?”

“Da. They… how do you say it… they talk a good game, but they are too much cowards to face you without someone else taking the lead. They thought that was why I was here. 

“I want more tea… can I get you more coffee?”

“Um… yes please. And call me Spencer, please.”

Yuri nodded decisively. It was annoying, really, when your grandmother proves to have been right all along.

Meanwhile, Groves had to stew about the quickly dwindling number of supporters he had on the City of the Ancients. Even the Israeli chick had stopped spending time with them. It was as if that fuck’em cop had cast a spell over everyone. And, really, “What the *hell* did that effem say to everyone?”

Å


	4. 3rd Life

Å 

Yuri insisted on escorting him back to the NCIS office. Spencer acknowledged that it was going to be even harder, in future, to get a quiet meal alone, unless he took it to his office or quarters. 

Entering the back office, Spencer was startled to find Tony at his desk, and Tali playing on the floor with the unidentified wooden toy Tony usually had on his desk. The three-year-old was obviously finding a use for it, rolling it on the floor for the calico cat to chase, to the enjoyment of both.

Spencer frowned at his Boss. 

His Boss frowned right back. 

“Bed rest,” Spencer said. “This is not bed.”

“Bored,” Tony countered. “And I hate typing reports from a bed.”

Spencer eyed his Boss…

“Don’t even think about ratting me out to Carson. There will come a time when you need me to aid and abet you getting out of some medical orders, and then where will you be?”

Spencer had to concede that fact. Still…

“If I have any problems, Luke will do the ratting out. Look at him. Does he look worried to you?”

Luke, as usual, was sprawled out on the balcony. So Spencer glanced at Bast, a far more reliable witness in any case. She merely blinked up at him. Okay, then. 

“Besides, what the hell, Probie! I just read the damned report! Has Anne yelled at you for that bone-head move you pulled?”

“Yes. And Carson, and Colonel Mitchell, and even Bast is pissed at me.”

Only slightly mollified, Tony said, “Okay then. And was that Yashkin I saw escorting you up here? Isn’t he a little on the bigoted side?”

“Was. Evgenia practically dragged him by the ear to join me at lunch. We came to an agreement. Groves and his buddies still hate me, though.”

“Oh, okay then. Wait… SG-1 is in meetings, AR-1 is out, AR-5 is training… oh shit. You were on your own?”

Spencer suppressed a disgruntled look, and stared Tony down. 

“Okay, then. What’s up for the afternoon?”

“Reports. Shouldn’t take long. Then I need to go back to the current Wraith analysis. I’m still not seeing the pattern there, and it’s bugging me. I’m beginning to think we’re missing something about the distribution… or maybe someone’s lying to us, withholding the facts, or just don’t know. We definitely don’t have the whole picture yet. And then I have to answer some of Blair’s questions. He sent a list in the last data-burst and I’ve barely scratched the surface.”

“Uh-hunh. Just… be careful what you tell Sandburg. Remember that all of our physical-plane communications to un-vetted people are still going through censors. I’m not sure how far I trust even the HWS to act in the best interests of any sentinels out there.”

Spencer could only nod in agreement. HWS reports went directly to the IOA and NID… and both organizations were as leaky as sieves these days. Not that the existence of sentinels was a state secret, or anything… just a very personal one, for certain people living with a secret super-hero identity. Not unlike zeds themselves, so Spencer could certainly relate. 

Spencer had already realized that there were three ‘Protectors’ on one team, AR-1. Ronon and Teyla, at least, and Sheppard was teetering on the edge of ‘awakening’ to his nature. If Spencer had to guess, he speculated that Sheppard wouldn’t fully emerge until McKay joined them in the blue jungle. He wasn’t sure what the Canadian’s problem was… whatever it was, whether the over-rationalization of a scientist, common or garden denial, or just pig-headed obstinacy… maybe he’d get over it and finally settle in his gifts, possibly after the birth of Meredith Joy. 

And AR-1 wasn’t the only team sporting Protectors. He was pretty sure that Anne Teldy was not only Furalin, but Protector as well. He wondered if that made her unique. It seemed an odd combination of genetic factors – Furling Z, plus ATA, plus whatever the purely human predisposition to advanced senses might turn out to be. And he *knew* Dusty Mehra was a sentinel, too, when there were frequent times on their missions when she ‘heard’, ‘smelled’ or ‘saw’ something suspicious or threatening, long before humanly possible, and not only hovered near him at such times, but reached out for a steadying touch, to keep her volatile temper at bay, so she could, in her team lead’s words, “Stay frosty.”

Blair’s research had strongly pointed to sentinels needing a guide partner to stabilize their extreme senses, and prevent over-loading neural pathways. With his statistical test base of exactly two, he had extrapolated the existence of a psychic bond, a one-to-one intimate and permanent link between sentinel and guide being required to prevent a sentinel de-stabilizing and de-compensating under the pressure of a barrage of sensual input. Spencer felt that Jim Ellison’s issues with trust and relying on a partner (since he was only able to work with his bonded mate, and sometimes not even him) were probably unique to him. And, from what Spencer could tell, Blair’s other test subject, ‘Alex’, was just plain psychotic. It was no wonder Spencer doubted some of the conclusions Blair had come up with in such a vacuum. 

He had passed Blair’s sentinel docs to Teyla and Ronon, and they also disagreed with certain details. They had a wealth of Pegasus galaxy folk wisdom, handed down through countless generations, and their own personal experience, telling them what they were capable of. Yes, some protectors did bond with a partner, to the betterment of their control over their abilities, but such an intimate union was not necessary for grounding. Teyla didn’t have to have Tony at her side every minute (although that would certainly be pleasing to her), and Ronon had lived and coped alone for his seven years on the run. Anyone trusted, or with any degree of empathic sensitivity would do, including shamans, elders, and even cats or other sensitive animals partnered closely with a human. In Anne’s case, Dr. Alison Porter, with no Z chromosome, still had a very zen feel to her, a wise, calm and practical presence, and they worked well together. Guides didn’t have to have a Z chromosome, clearly, but, from Spencer’s observations, it did seem to help. Teyla and Ronon had both been doing fine for years while on AR-1, and Spencer thought it was probably due to McKay’s influence, no matter how oblivious or abrasive the man appeared to be on the surface. 

Spencer was exceedingly cautious what he sent back to Blair. For one, he had to be careful to couch it in terms of local tribes surrounding his remote secret base, having ‘Protectors’ that seemed all too familiar to him, after reading Blair’s ‘fiction’. Sure, Blair knew the ‘secret base’ story was only a tiny part of it… but to get by the censors… In separate, and apparently unrelated paragraphs, he talked about shamans and guides… but he had strongly felt he had to tell Blair at least some of what he had found, with Teyla and Ronon agreeing and participating in the discussion. Blair was working in the dark, and there were obviously Earth sentinels in dire need of support and advice… any they could get. Their night-time meetings in the blue jungle could only go so far in supplying raw data and filling the blanks.

Now that he knew what to look for, Spencer had realized that he actually knew a lot of people who were most probably sentinels. They would be drawn to the military and law enforcement, of course, but still rare… Spencer thought about Derek, Mick Rawson, Jack Garrett and Matt Simmons, in particular. Maybe even Emily Prentiss. He thought about how odd it had seemed to him, how many of his colleagues were Z-positive. He also recalled the ongoing friction between Gideon and Derek in the beginning of the team, because Gideon kept Spencer with him… Derek got cranky when he couldn’t be teamed with Spencer in the field. But then, the whole team had been overly protective of Spencer from the first. Even without the Z brand, their youngest seemed vulnerable in ways none of the rest of them were. Thinking of Garrett’s IRT, and Agent Cooper’s Red Cell team, with Mick Rawson’s sniper and hunting abilities… Agents Cooper and Garrett had both filled their teams in with Z-positive agents. Spencer was pretty sure any Z-positive, zed or not, might be naturally, instinctively, able to aid a sentinel stabilize and extend their senses. 

With that in mind, Spencer sent an email to Derek, having difficulties, according to the rest of the BAU team, getting used to Spencer’s absence. He told him to call Blair, giving his friend’s contact information. The cover he gave was that Blair’s work linking anthropology to forensic police work had definite value to the BAU team as research materials. Which, luckily, they did.

And if Blair and Jim were dragged into the mission to protect zeds on Earth… so much the better. 

“What about you, Tony? What’s on your ‘to do’ list that is going to get you out of a lot of baleful looks from Teyla when she gets back?”

Tony sighed, caressing his extremely bloated stomach. He willingly confessed, “Make work, mostly. The closer we get to TJ’s zero hour, the more… antsy I get. And after all the research you’ve bombarded us all with… Poor little TJ is going to be a lawless hooligan if I don’t get myself calm and serene, and it’ll all be my fault. And the poor little guy has enough black marks on his DNA already!”

Then Tony stopped himself, looking stricken… Spencer sighed. It was rare he even thought of his… experience in Sulfur Springs. He mostly shoved it out of his mind. It was other people who were not inclined to forget. Except sometimes. 

“It’s okay, Tony. Dimmy and JJ have absolutely nothing to do with that. An individual raised in adverse conditions in a clearly sick atmosphere, and traumatized by his circumstances, making a succession of bad choices because he didn’t know any better, and was in fact encouraged in unacceptable behavior by his environment… not applicable to us. So. Your agenda?”

“Well… hunh. I realize I don’t have your math chops for the geographic analysis, but I know you’re having trouble with it, not enough data, so I started throwing in some random parameters and running simulations. I figured we were just missing something. Garcia helped me out with that. Garce, show Probie what we got so far?”

Above their heads, Garcia, actually their dedicated subset of the Atlantis AI, had developed a way to copy the hologram picture of the Pegasus Galaxy from the Map room to their office, and produce time-elapse movements. In smaller scale to fit, of course, but could zoom in and out on sections. 

“Now, this is the actual movements of the various Wraith hives we’ve been able to track. So I threw in various seemingly unrelated factors to work different scenarios… like rogue Genii activity…”

Above them, the color coding for the Wraith in purple hues flashed across the various star systems… not matching their current knowledge of the major congregations of Wraith.

“Then the Hoffan plague…”

And again, the test sequence simulation didn’t come close to matching… But shouldn’t it at least have been closer? The Hoffan plague directly impacted the Wraith, after all, should have produced definite voids for worlds known to be afflicted, where Genii movements, rogue or not, would leave the Wraith indifferent.

“Yeah, you’d think it would line up at least partly, wouldn’t you? But then, the Wraith have no way of detecting Hoffan antibodies, and may not even know where the plague has struck. Which, granted, is pretty much everywhere by now. And then there was this one. Run the A-1 simulation, Garcia, if you please.”

Now, that one was actually a pretty decent match. In surprise, Spencer stared at his Boss. Who looked vaguely disturbed. 

He explained, “We got a message in from one of the Travelers. They’ve got their fleet spread out all over the place, Sheppard won’t trust them to tell us the correct time of day, and they’re never easy to contact… but they’ve been doing some hunting recently. And they came up with this. It worried them, so they brought it to us. With the additional message, ‘What the hell did you *do*?’ To which Carter replied ‘nothing’, and tried to act innocent. Not sure if it worked.”

Warily, Spencer asked, “And did we do something?”

Tony grinned. “Oh, not *we*, my little Probie, this is all *you*.”

With a shiver down his spine, Spencer asked, “Who are the Travelers hunting?” 

“The Asurans. One of their ships noticed the Asuran ship, we think there’s only the one, but it’s big and pretty damn powerful, coming away from a known Wraith hibernation sanctuary. Yeah, thanks Garcia, that one. As far as they could tell, the Asurans weren’t attacking, and left the hive untouched. So they started tracking, when they could, and keeping watch on other known Wraith locations when they lost contact. The Asurans must have known they were being followed, but ignored the Travelers. Ignored hails, didn’t bother to alter course… as long as the Travelers made no threatening moves, ignored them pretty much completely. One got too close, and all the Asurans did was send them a message to back off, they were on a mission. But that one ship has been visiting Wraith strongholds all over the galaxy. And once they leave, and so far as the Travelers can tell, no shots fired on either side, the Wraith move out. Some start running to the galactic rim, some join other strongholds, some go to their local Wraith-worshippers… but they all scatter. According to the Travelers, the Asuran have been at it for about two months.”

Spencer swallowed. “How many have they visited so far?”

“About half. But I think whatever they’ve got to say has pretty much got to all the Wraith by now, because the last few moved out before the Asurans got to them. And one group, this one... see that? That’s about twenty hives uniting into one fleet, with more arriving daily. That group is preparing something, an ambush, an offensive, something... and they seem to be building a trap on the trajectory the Asuran have made. It’s not like your machine friends are in any hurry, or doing one single thing to disguise their route. They go, they talk a few minutes, they move on... almost as if they’re daring the Wraith to attack them.”

Again, Spencer swallowed with difficulty. “And those who aren’t joining the offensive?”

“Some seem to be going to ground, hiding out, just on another hibernation world, or, like I said, running for the rim worlds to get out of whatever fray they see coming. Others are going to their subject worlds, their worshipper communities. You know, the ones where they have a deal, give us your weak, your infirm, your huddled masses, and we’ll eat them first and leave you alone. And by the way, give your leadership a few extra years and a jolt of enzyme as a parting gift, to keep them fat and happy. Why go to the food who worship them? Who knows. But Spencer... I don’t think it’s a coincidence, that suddenly you’ve got Wraith worshippers laying traps for the Magic Veralin. I think those hives have put out the message – they want a word. With you.”

Spencer groaned as he flopped back in his desk chair.

“Yeah, Probie. And the question on everyone’s lips is, ‘What the *hell* did you say to them?’”

Å 

Vala Mal Doran found Dr. Daniel Jackson in the mess hall, absently eating a sandwich, with Aten curled up in his lap like a big white furry cushion. He probably had no idea what he was even eating, his nose in his Expedition laptop, as he had every available waking moment since he’d been issued the thing, with its link to the Atlantis databanks. Vala knew it was full of texts in the languages and dialects of the Gate-Builders. 

Vala gave a heavy sigh, knowing she couldn’t compete with an ancient bit of alien language. 

She was pretty sure this man was going to drive her mad, probably one day soon. 

Never, in her entire life, either as herself or as host to the Goa’uld Qetesh, had she ever failed to lure any male she wanted into any position she wanted them in. Legions of men, and not a few women, had fallen to their knees before her in abject worship, tongues hanging out and pupils dilated with want. And that was without a symbiote, jaffa army, voice box or anything but a winning smile and revealing costume. 

Not this man.

Maybe that was the root of her obsession, she reflected. She wanted the one, singular man who could resist her. And didn’t that make her just a little bit pathetic?

But no, to be fair to herself, and she did always try to be fair to herself since no one else ever was… but no, that wasn’t true, was it? There was one person in creation who was unfailingly fair to her. 

Anyway, what was that thought? 

Oh yes. Her obsession for that infuriating… archeologist. It wasn’t that he was the only person ever to resist her, although she was pretty sure he was one of only two… maybe three. It was that what he offered her had nothing to do with sex, or want, or what he could get out of her… He had never asked anything of her but friendship. Free, clear, unconditional. A meeting of equals, bound by mutual respect and caring. She had no doubt that he would be willing to do anything for her, even give his life, should the situation call for it. She wasn’t so sure she could return the favor… although she would sincerely hope she could. 

He only wanted what was best for her. He only wanted to be fair to her. He only wanted to be friends. Damn it!

Cameron called it the Team Dynamic. It was a close bond that developed between random people brought together in a team, sometimes stronger than the bond of blood (certainly would have to be in her case… and Daniel’s, come to think), forged by the fire of battle and danger and a common enemy or a common goal. Daniel, Cameron had pointed out, fell into the team-dynamic easily, after so many years at the SGC. It was pretty much his default relationship with the people closest to him. When Spencer Reid had explained the ‘love map’ to her, Cameron’s comments made even more sense. Daniel had been raised from infancy in a team dynamic, the team his extended family. Where most Tauri, or at least, those in Western cultures, were fixed on a one-to-one romantic union, male-and-female, and all others were considered, at best… kinky, Daniel had a far wider horizon. 

Vala had needed training to learn about ‘team’. But after she had learned and accepted, and even appreciated the fact that dependence upon and trust in the members of her team did not mean weakness, but strength… 

There had still been Daniel, shining in her eyes like a beacon of everything she wanted out of life. Passion, honesty, courage, imagination, vision of a future that was… in a word, glorious.

Now she was just confused. How could she get past the team-mate hump to something more, when Daniel seemed not to want or need more?

Plenty of people had taken her aside to gently explain about Sha’re. Sha’re the beautiful, noble, perfect, unattainable, dead… the wife he would never stop mourning. She wasn’t sure, of course, but she thought she had maybe met Sha’re once, while she was host to Qetesh, as the Goa’uld Amaunet. And sure, she had been attractive… Vala had got up the nerve to ask Daniel about his wife once, when he caught her looking at the framed picture he kept in his office. He had spoken wistfully of her for some minutes. She had asked if he still loved her. He had said of course, he always would. But… since his Ascension – the first one – he had suddenly found that he didn’t mourn her any longer. Ascension tended to put things like life and death in a new context, apparently. 

So if his period of mourning was over, why was he still so… so… bloody *blind*?

Flirting only seemed to annoy him. Innuendo he passed off as a joke. He wouldn’t treat *any* of her advances seriously… and, okay, yeah, that was her fault. In the beginning, all of her advances were tricks to get leverage on him - even from the very first she knew she wanted some advantage, some hold, some hook into the very heart of this man - and all of them failed, some of them in spectacular fashion. In retrospect, it was probably a mistake, after their first meeting when she was trying to steal a ship from him, to follow it up with a second meeting where she slapped a life-sucking handcuff bracelet on him. And the only straight-up truth she had told him, in either meeting, was her name. She had set the pattern herself, so now Daniel assumed all of her best moves were only lies, a form of teasing.

“Daniel. Daniel? Daniel!”

Only when she snatched the pad out of his hands did he look up at her, blinking owlishly behind his gold rim glasses, those arched eyebrows dancing up on his forehead. It was so god-damned adorable. It just wasn’t fair. 

“General O’Neill wants to brief us on tomorrow’s mission, in his office in five minutes. Remember?”

He gave her a shining smile, and a pat on the hand. “Thanks Vala. What would I do without you?”

“Be late for all your meetings, I imagine,” she sighed. 

When he got up to leave, she trailed behind him, just after Aten, taking the opportunity to appreciate the awesome qualities of his back-side. Only too aware how truly pathetic she was. She threw a particularly big smile at the lowly airman collecting the empty trays, and was gratified to see him trip over his own feet as she passed. 

So, she hadn’t lost her touch altogether. 

Å 

Vala wasn’t the only one watching Dr. Jackson’s back-side. Or sighing at the unattainable. Major Evan Lorne had met the archeologist on that mining mission to the unas planet… where the man had saved all their lives from a Fort Apache-style massacre by making them all get to their knees. After first dressing him down for moving his artifacts… 

His AR-2 second, Sgt. Stackhouse, snickered and poked Markham in the side to point out their team lead’s idiocy.

“Oh shut up,” Lorne grouched, going back to his meatloaf… thing. 

“You never took a run at that?” Lieutenant Niall Kemp asked curiously. Dr. David Parish listened closely, quite proud of the casual and disinterested manner he was trying to create… he was anything but, with a vested interest in where his team lead’s romantic focus might lie.

“Are you kidding?” Stackhouse, a long time SGC marine, observed. “People who take a run at Dr. Jackson tend to get re-assed to Antarctica.” 

“Not Vala…”

“Special case,” Markham nodded sagely. 

“So…” Kemp wanted to get to the bottom of the mystery… he had heard the rumors, of course. “The Old Man?” meaning O’Neill.

“Just friends, Niall,” Lorne stated repressively. “Never, ever, anything else.”

“That’s not what the rumors say,” Kemp sniggered.

“Just malicious gossip. Daniel is straight.”

“Get out!” shouted four voices in unison.

“S’truth.”

“Aw come on, Evan,” Stackhouse protested. “Daniel Jackson. Bleeding heart, pacifist, long-haired academic, the geek’s geek, king of the geeks, is *straight*?”

“Okay, so maybe not so much straight as open to possibilities. But I’m here to tell you he’s never actually had a male lover. With a *very* few exceptions, and only two I can think of offhand who were consensual, he hasn’t had many female lovers, either.” 

Stackhouse glanced behind him, shaking his head. “If *that* guy can’t get a date, there is no hope for the human race at all.” 

“No kidding. The problem is, Daniel is just plain oblivious. He likes people, he’s interested in what they have to say, what they can teach him, their stories, their problems… and his definition of ‘people’ is a bit more all-encompassing than most… but he can never believe they might want to return the favor. And it takes a two-by-four to the head before he realizes someone is interested in him in *that* way. He’s a jump-ee, not a jump-er.”

Markham snickered. “Clever description. So… Vala? Now there is a jump-er, if ever I saw one.”

“You got me. If she jumped, she must have missed. Or Daniel just… stepped out of the way.”

Å 

The mission briefing went just about the way they all did… Jack expressed his doubts and concerns. Daniel maintained the importance of establishing an official treaty with the Furling and their Veralin, and that, this time, unlike the dozen or so others, there was a decent chance they would actually catch up with the elusive Veralin. Jack then pointed out that this particular planet had suffered cullings in the past, there were reports from their Genii sources that wraith-worshippers had moved in, and taken together, those didn’t seem to add up to potential success. On the contrary, and it was more likely to be significantly more dangerous, this time. To which Daniel argued, passionately, for checking it out, just to see if the residents needed rescue or assistance. 

Teal’c, Mitchell and Vala sat back, silent, watching the debate like the audience at a tennis match. Only without the excitement of suspense… it was a foregone conclusion that Jack would have to say yes. But… just as Daniel stood up, smiling brightly in victory with a happy “Thanks, Jack,” the General had a final zinger.

“Okay. You’ve got a go for tomorrow. But this time, I’m coming with you.”

Mitchell looked like his lunch was disagreeing with him. Teal’c gave him a long and level look, and Daniel’s girlfriend dared to smirk at him. And Daniel, he blinked, a little confused. Did this constitute a win or not? “Um… okay.”

Then SG-1 trooped out… all but Vala. She slouched easily back in her chair, regarding him thoughtfully. It should have been creepy… Jack waited, but she didn’t seem to have anything to say, just studied him with that thoughtful frown. So he got back to his reports. If she had something to say, she’d get around to it eventually. It was no doubt something to do with Daniel. As an experienced fisherman, he had the patience to wait her out.

Å 

As intrigued as Vala had been about Spencer’s suggestion, it had been two months now, and she had so far failed to figure out a strategy for approaching the General. 

Flirting wouldn’t work. Jack O’Neill was too good a flirt himself, and she risked making him doubt her commitment… well, doubt it more. She already knew his off-handed references to her as ‘Daniel’s girlfriend’ were meant as dismissive of her importance to the archeologist. He saw her as an opportunist, a survivor, a loner… hunh. Not so unlike the man himself, maybe.

What had Spencer said about negotiating 101, after that Asuran thing? Establish a rapport, trust, an emotional connection?

The General had dived back into his reports, but frowned. He was troubled by what he read. There were a lot of things about the Pegasus situations to cause such concern… she wondered which it was this time.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Vala asked. 

O’Neill stared at her… first in surprise, then in suspicion, then finally in resignation. “Sure, why the hell not. It’s the goddamned Z-ATA issue. Again.”

“That’s a pretty wide field. What in particular in this instance?”

O’Neill scowled at his screen. “Beckett thinks it might be a cure for cancer. And allergies. And all sorts of chronic illnesses, not just old age and schizophrenia, like the Reid kid is hoping. Give a Z-positive a single shot of ATA gene therapy… and hey presto, cure. Okay, so they get an extra set of genitals out of the deal, and an extra ration of shit from all the assholes on Earth who need a scapegoat to blame for everything they think is wrong with their damn life… but still. A cure for cancer, at least for ten percent of the people. 

“And I’m sitting on it. Because I’m afraid of the fallout. Genocide for zeds, for a starter. Abortions for every fetus who tests as zed. But you gotta know it won’t stop there, they’ll be aborting every Z chromosome soon enough, because a single shot will make them zeds. And there goes our cancer cure, along with everything else we might need the Veralin for. So what the hell do I do?”

Vala nodded. “You need an out-of-the-box solution.”

O’Neill snorted. “Well the boxed-up ones sure won’t work. Care to elaborate?”

“Jack, you’re a boy scout at heart. In your heart of hearts, you believe honesty is the best policy, even if life has taught you it’s not practical, or even possible, most times. You went into the military to fly and be a hero, protecting people. For the adventure of it, maybe. Then black ops, and Daniel’s told me, you still have nightmares, still consider it damned distasteful, even if it was necessary. But the Stargate… that was made of win for you, right? Space adventures, playing hero, saving lives, planets, galaxies, the whole damn universe, not to mention our dear trouble-magnet Daniel… and when your superiors order you to do something you don’t like, you let Daniel get the bit in his teeth and run with it… and lead the way.

“I understand, believe me. I’ve done exactly the same thing since I joined the SGC. Every time I wanted to run, or hide, or go with my survivor-gut, I look at Daniel, and let him make the decisions for me. That has worked surprisingly well, much to my astonishment. 

“Of all the truly nasty things Qetesh left me, one was a restless soul. After seeing the wonders of the universe, I was never going to be content staying on one planet. After escaping the world where the Tok’ra left me stranded, surrounded by haters, I found that the job opportunities were limited, even fewer were legal or ethical… but who can really afford ethics? Qetesh taught me to be a whore, but letting my body be controlled by another? Never. Again. I became a generalist, for survival, adapting to the situation, looking for the main chance… thief, pirate, spy, con woman… Politics? Another word for manipulation, and I can do it if I have to. But nothing ever quite fit. Until I started treasure hunting with Daniel. I see the appeal of adventure, playing hero, letting Daniel be our conscience, since neither one of us can remember where we left ours, and happy to rely on his. He’s so certain of what’s right.

“And even I can see he’s the king of lateral thinking, of out-of-the-box solutions. But this case may not be one for Daniel. He’s dedicated to the truth, too. Take it to Tony.”

Jack, who had listened to all of this with a deepening frown, clutching his pen the tighter, was a bit startled. “DiNozzo? Why him?”

Vala smirked. “Like me, he learned the art of the con at his pappy’s knee. But Tony is more familiar with Earth, and your zeds, and the realities of what they face. For him, honesty is a choice, not a given. His whole life has been undercover, a long con that leaves me breathless with admiration for his success, and he’s turned it into an art form. Maybe he has something to fake out all the haters and assholes on Earth who, as you pointed out, feel they need a scapegoat to blame for all the things that have gone wrong in their own lives.”

“That’s… actually not a terrible idea. I’ll think on it.”

When Vala remained comfortably arranged in his guest chair, Jack gave up not giving her a careful examination right back. He had to admit, he had a soft spot for a bad girl. He usually was smart enough to commit to the good girls… but, just maybe, that’s why it hadn’t worked out, with Sara, or Sam. The thing was, you couldn’t really trust a bad girl to stick around for the long haul. It’s why he had watched Vala’s determined play for Daniel with some trepidation… relieved when the linguist seemed immune… going on for years now? Hm.

Not that Daniel didn’t have a dark streak of his own, well buried, but there and creepy when it suddenly and unexpectedly emerged, to stun everyone around him. When a long-haired dweeb had jumped in front of a staff weapon for him… then later swung another staff weapon on a god… when Carter had reported with shocked eyes, how he had shot out a tank full of Goa’uld larvae… when Teal’c had been equally shocked – in his stoic way – when a sarcophagus-addicted Daniel had abandoned them to slavery in a mine… and the little Daniel had to say about a dream Shifu had given him, where he used the power of Goa’uld knowledge to blow up the Earth… And of all the people in the universe to wipe out the entire Ascended Ori race with the press of a single button, it should be the bleeding heart pacifist-leaning Dr. Jackson? Who could have predicted that? Staring into Daniel’s Prior-white eyes as he came down from that mission… had been creepy and disturbing as all hell. 

Maybe Daniel had more in common with his space-pirate girlfriend than Jack thought. 

“So, Vala… are you a good girl, or a bad girl?”

She grinned saucily. “I can be bad. I can be good. I can be *very* good. But what I really am? Is pragmatic. That’s how I survived all this time. Right, Jack? Like you. Maybe just like you. I’m a survivor. The only real difference between us is that you had a world, a team, a place to survive in. Lucky for you. Imagine yourself in my place. 

“I feel sometimes as if I have lived three lives. The first was as an ignorant farm-girl growing up on a backward one-horse planet. Survival there was coping with a step mother who hated me, and a distracted father who was too involved in the next big con to remember he had a family. The second, of course, was as host to a Goa’uld… as helpless and hopeless as I was, survival was about waiting for a chance, just one… which came in the form of a Tok’ra agent who wanted me to go from one snake in the head to another, and, go figure, was all put out when I said no. Then there’s this one, my third life, maybe my last chance to get it right. Would you have acted different, if it was just you against the universe? But survival is not thriving… we both know that too well, don’t we, Jack? I’m no longer willing to settle for mere survival. I think I know what I need to thrive… do you know what you need, Jack?” as he sat a little straighter, beginning to squirm under her knowing, too shrewd look. “Oh, yeah. You know, General Jonathan ‘Jack’ O’Neill, but maybe you aren’t ready to admit it, yet. I, on the other hand, am. But what we both need to ask ourselves is this… what does *Daniel* need to thrive?”

“Before or after he grows an extra set of genitals?” Jack groused, almost, but not quite, under his breath.

Vala chuckled, then smiled enigmatically. “Maybe he needs something to exercise both sets, eh, Jack?” Jack stiffened, alarmed. “Dr. Reid had some *very* interesting things to say about Daniel and what he might need to thrive…”

And now, of course, having left Jack’s head reeling with unaccustomed and unwelcomed fantasies, Vala got up, gave him a jaunty salute, and abandoned him.

Okay, what the *hell* did the Reid kid say to her?

Å 

Jack O’Neill knocked softly, then went in. Teal’c’s quarters were dimly lit, unusual in the city of the Ancients, but filled with candles of all sizes, the scent of bees-wax and paraffin heavy in the air. Since candles weren’t a usual supply item, Jack figured either Teal’c or Carter had put in the order. Teal’c sat in the classic lotus just off-centre, and to his surprise, Ronon was there with him, also sitting in lotus, evidently mediating too. 

Jack knew the two warriors spent a good deal of their time on the city sparring in the training rooms together… he hadn’t realized they were this close. 

At Jack’s entrance, both warriors slowly opened their eyes, then ever so slightly turned to stare at him. 

“Hey, Teal’c. Hey Ronon.”

“O’Neill.”

“General.”

“I… uh… wanted a word.”

This statement required no reply, so none was given. Jack didn’t even bother to ask for privacy for this conversation… he hadn’t actually heard Sheppard’s wookie say more than a dozen words, total, since he arrived. And there was nothing really private about what he wanted to say… ask… get straight in his highly confused head…

Jack scratched his head, struggling to figure where to begin. “So… this mission tomorrow.”

More silence.

“I’m going.” Since Carson had given him a treatment with the Ancient healing devices, he felt ten years younger. At least ten years, with functional knees and a back that didn’t twinge at every step. So getting back in the SG-1 saddle seemed like good sense. And tomorrow’s mission was going to be problematic… so of course Jack had invited himself along. Bonus for the fact it would drive Mitchell up the wall, with a general as back-seat diver. “Cameron is going. I know Vala is going, but that woman will only encourage all Daniel’s worst habits…”

Teal’c frowned. “Vala Mal Doran will allow no harm to come to DanielJackson, O’Neill.”

“Hey, I know she’s good at the body-guard stuff, but… she isn’t the most stable person… I trust her, don’t get me wrong, but… only to a certain point. She strikes me as the independent type, a free spirit. In fact, I’m kinda shocked she’s stuck it out with us as long as she has.” 

Through this speech, Teal’c’s notoriously dead-pan expression had become more and more blank, until one eyebrow lifted incredulously by a micrometer.

“Are you, O’Neill?” 

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “You think she’s sticking around for Daniel?”

“Indeed.”

“I dunno, Teal’c… They seem like oil and water to me. I mean… look at her! Ex-thief, ex-smuggler, liar, con-woman, and worst of all, ex-host! If I had sat down to invent the woman guaranteed to be the absolute worst for Daniel, she would look a hell of a lot like Vala. I don’t want to see him hurt. Not again.”

Teal’c cocked his head to one side, considering his first human friend, the man he had followed, sometimes blindly, out of slavery and into the freedom of a new age for all of his people. O’Neill had many fine qualities, and was, in his opinion, unparalleled as a leader. But in certain highly localized matters, the man could sometimes be as dense as a brick wall. And one of them was their mutual friend and greatest challenge. Perhaps it was time to put the matter before O’Neill, plain and unadorned. 

“DanielJackson has been in mourning for a very long time, and in thrall to his own sense of guilt and the weight of imagined personal failures for longer. Even before Kelowna, I feared we were losing him to his own sense of defeat. You remember how alone he was, how isolated from all of us. How every conversation became an argument. It is a testament to his own stubbornness that he remained with the SGC in spite of the deplorable way he was being treated at that time.”

“Hey! That was the Pentagon and the NID, pushing us harder and harder for weapons…”

“I know the reasons. I merely state the facts. I will forever be grateful to Oma Desala for giving him the only chance he could have taken to escape a doomed situation with honor. That year without his friendship and wise council… merely confirmed to all of us how bleak a world without him would be. And when he was given back to us… enough had changed that we were able to make use of the lessons we had learned, and welcome him among us. But still… he stood apart. And we allowed him to do that. He was changed. Of course he was. He seemed to me to be… cut off, not just from his memories, but also from his own emotions. The memories may have returned, but they were all… muted. At a remove. Like aged photographs of another time. 

“Do you not remember, O’Neill, what he was like in the first years of the project? The brilliance in his eyes, the excitement and passion in his heart, shining. The ‘Danny Dance’ when he was particularly enthused? Did you not miss that?”

O’Neill frowned, his eyes suspiciously bright. He could only nod.

“Three things brought back the passion since he returned from Ascension. One was Anubis. Defeating the monster who robbed him of Abydos and threatened Earth… this did much to heal the rents in his soul. The second was the discovery of Atlantis. I believe you erred when you would not let him join the first Expedition, O’Neill. Yes, the danger was extreme, and none of us were willing to release him, but… the Lost City of the Ancients is the culmination of all he has been working for, fighting for, striving toward, all of his life. And he was not allowed to reach it at that time. Did you not see how tortured he was with every message we received? How hard he struggled to find any way of re-establishing contact? How he insisted upon joining General Hammond on the *Prometheus*, doomed venture though that was? That was the real reason he used the Ancient translation stone device that took him to the Ori. He thought the chances were good that it would take him to Atlantis.

“And the third thing that has brought forth the light in his eyes and the excitement in his actions, is Vala Mal Doran.”

“Yeah, because she drives him crazy!”

“Every day and in every way she can think of. And she is most inventive and devoted in her pursuit. I have lost count of the number of times she has made him do the ‘Danny Dance’. It is a joy to witness, every time.”

Jack huffed, leaning against the door frame. “Okay. I guess I can see it. She’s fighting to get his attention, sticking his pig-tails in the ink well.”

“And she has been successful, more often and for longer periods of time, than anything else since he Descended. Do you not do the exact same thing? ‘Getting his goat’, as you call it?”

“You think he’s in love with her?”

Teal’c studied his one-time commanding officer. “That is not for me to say. I do not believe romance has a place in their relationship, not at this time, but they are bound tightly together nevertheless. Part of that bond was only strengthened in their battle with the Ori. They bore the weight of that together. They found the answers to that together. And when Daniel Jackson, the gentlest, kindest, most forgiving being I have even known, was forced to commit an act of genocide--”

“Hey now! He had no choice!”

“Yet genocide it was. He knows it. He accepts it. Any punishment for that act, he would also accept. I feared for some time he would court disaster, as well, thinking he deserved it. Yet that did not happen. Because at his side is a woman who understands better than any of us what he had to do, and why.” 

Jack gave a heavy sigh, and nodded. “Okay. I get it Teal’c. I do. I just… well. It’s Daniel.”

“Indeed.”

“So… I guess I just need to know you’ll watch out for him on this trip. It’s gonna take all of us, unless I miss my guess.”

“Indeed I will, O’Neill. You may depend on me.”

“No wandering off on his own. No forgetting to eat or sleep. No disobeying military command orders. No messing with big stinky monsters. No getting dragged off by alien princesses, destroyers of worlds, or glowy more-ascended-than-thou beings with their god-damned secret agendas. No snake-baiting, even if the bad guy he’s baiting isn’t actually a snake. No playing with hinky alien devices. And absolutely, positively, on no account, dying.”

“Indeed. I will do my best, O’Neill.”

“Right. Good. Okay, then. So… that’s all I wanted to say. I’m gonna enjoy kicking any Wraith ass we find out there. Good luck and all that.”

And the Director of Home World Security unceremoniously bolted out the door before he babbled his way into a section eight. 

Ronon slanted his head to one side. “You’re *sure* there’s nothing between him and Jackson?”

“There is altogether too much between them. But nothing of a sexual nature.”

“Okay, if you say so. Actually… now I think of it… from time to time, Teyla has given me pretty much the exact same speech, about McKay.”

“Indeed?”

“You know, I’m pretty sure that word isn’t supposed to have as many meanings as you give it.”

“Indeed.”

Å 

Vala didn’t often recall Qetesh’s memories. She had pretty firmly suppressed them in that first year after the Tok’ra had freed her… and then left her stranded on the planet where Qetesh had been a raging tyrant for decades (thanks so much for that!) enslaving everyone, executing dozens for even a suspicion of rebellion, driving hundreds more to death with hard labor in the fields and mines. Some of the more vivid – and horrific – experiences roused themselves in her nightmares, but Vala had got pretty good at suppressing those as well.

But Qetesh had been a very old Goa’uld, and some memories she herself had forgotten over time… this one had been struggling to emerge for a while now. And with her little discussion with Jack that afternoon, Vala found the images particularly close to the surface. In sleep, in the city of the Ancients, they finally found their way out of hiding.

Å 

Qetesh was feeling particularly good, after an hour in the bath, and another in the hands of the slave most accomplished at massage. This host was new… Qetesh tended to wear them out quickly and preferred the variety of getting a new one, rather than renewals in the sarcophagus. That left a tinny ache to her mind and an unpleasant after-taste. So much the better that Baal also liked variety… in his bed-mate’s form, if not his own. He clearly wouldn’t give up the handsome dark-eyed host he currently had without a fight. Her current choice was female, as most of them were… while not herself a Queen, she preferred the female form. It allowed for the most delicious interactions with her male-form Lord. 

So, wearing a filmy bit of something, she sauntered into the throne room of the great palace of Gubla, to see what her Lord was up to. And, as so often of late, he was brooding, a vo’cume hanging in the air, recently darkened. She sighed. 

“Is it Lord Ra again?” she queried. Egypt, although distant, obviously wasn’t far enough away to prevent the Supreme System Lord from causing problems. 

“Bah!” Baal exclaimed. “He will not listen to reason!”

“Of course not, my Lord. He is the supreme among the System Lords. Why should he listen to anyone?”

“Even a System Lord may need the good will of another at some point! Does he think he will never need a friend? Or a favor? Or support? But no, he alienates everyone! Even his closest subordinates, Apophis, Anubis, Osiris and Isis, Set, even his own Queen! Hathor is livid.”

“She has reason,” Qetesh granted. Too many of the true Queens, at least one in ten, were sickening, and no one knew why. Baal’s own mate, Athtart, was one finding it increasingly difficult to spawn. The sarcophagus, rather than curing it, only seemed to make it worse. Oh, the rejuvenations worked well enough while a Queen symbiote was freed from the human host, and for larger spawnings of the sexless primtas, a Queen must be allowed to swell to full size. It was when they returned to the host that the Queens seemed most vulnerable to this unknown wasting sickness. Ra’s solution was for his Queen to be relegated to the Heliopolis palace pools indefinitely. Qetesh could not imagine… being so cut off from the pleasures of a host’s flesh? Swimming in endless circles in a single pond? Possibly forever? No!

Baal brooded on, “If he is not careful, he will drive more than his slaves into open rebellion. And he has not yet managed to catch Egeria. He claims indifference… what can one queen alone do? But it is not wise to leave her loose to foment discontent. Much he does is not wise.”

Qetesh considered her Lord a moment. “Do you truly care? Heliopolis is a long way away, unless one has an udajeet or ha’tak. His enemies are only as fast as the swiftest horse, and that is many days away from us. Even so, if Ra is the author of his own defeat, will he not leave open the leadership to one wiser, better able to command? Like yourself, my Lord.”

Baal slouched in his throne, scowling at the dark vo’cume. Even catering to his ego didn’t seem to be working to lighten his mood this time. Qetesh wondered why.

“Is there something else, Lord? Some other concern?”

Baal tapped his fingers restlessly on the arm of the throne chair, intricately carved wood with an overlay of gold leaf. “Ra has lost three squads of jaffa he sent after the Hermaphrodite.”

Yes, perhaps there was reason for concern in that. The human rebel called the Hermaphrodite had acquired near-legendary status of late. A slave who had found protectors in the nomadic tribes of the Egyptian deserts. Some of them had extraordinary abilities… for humans. Their senses seemed enhanced beyond the norm, their wits sharp, their instincts driving them to battle the Goa’uld and their jaffa in protection of their tribes, and now, this one charismatic rebel leader. Ra, Niirti, many of their kind, had been trying for decades to identify and capture one of these super-humans, to see what kind of hosts they might make. No one had yet succeeded. Hard as a so-called Guardian was to catch, they were even harder to keep, and when faced with implantation, they committed suicide rather than be taken. Any one of these humans, allied with the Hermaphrodite, might pose a considerable threat. 

Except that…

“Should we be seriously threatened, why would we not just… re-locate? Turn these old territories into slag and ash, and move to another continent. Not east, of course… Lord Yu isn’t the most accommodating sort, and has made Ch’in his own. But now that the giant white aliens have been driven from their domain west and south of us, we could always claim their empty palaces. They might be livable, after a fashion. Or we have holdings well away from this little world… First World or not, it lacks naquadah, and it isn’t the only domain on the chaapa’ai network we might claim.”

“Hm,” was the only answer Baal would give, but he was as well aware of the options as she. 

But his First Prime had arrived at the door and bowed. Baal signaled for him to approach. Behind him came a squad of Baal’s personal guard, holding a squirming naked human.

She had the slight form and full breasts of a female, the soft skin, winsome limbs and lustrous flowing hair… but he also had a full cock and balls, mottled with pink and purple coloration. She/he screamed and fought in the jaffa hold, as futile as that was, no understandable word coming from her/his wide-opened mouth or terror-whitened eyes.

Peripheral motions briefly distracted Qetesh… the plentiful palace cats had all stopped their various activities… napping, staring at walls, sniffing after mice, wrestling with each other, battling at rainbow beams cast from the fountain… all sat up, and turned their heads to stare silently at the hermaphrodite. 

Qetesh frowned… then forgot the vagaries of cats. The apparent female was far more intriguing. 

Some few and rare humans were born like this, she knew… some aberration in human spawning. It happened sometimes. The ones with the mottling were said to be fertile while most with dual or mis-formed genitals were not… But there were superstitions among the slave races about them. Lesser beings, slaves even among slaves, mistakes, some with witch powers, not to be trusted… folk tales, surely, that caused such anomalies to be outcast. So they took care to clothe themselves and hide their natures, just to live among normal humans. 

Like the cats, Baal sat up and stared at the captive, studying her/him like a rare new find. Another wave of his hand, and one of the palace priests came forward with a primta. It was ready for implantation, a dark snake form with clacking pincers, dorsal fin flexing. It squealed and twisted eagerly. The priest brought it near… 

Now, the captive screamed out one recognizable word. “No!”

The symbiote seemed to gasp, stiffen… then with terrified desperation, fought the priest’s hand, anything to get away. But the closer it was forced to the captive, the wilder its struggles, until it jerked… and hung limp. 

“It… The primta is dead, my Lord!” the astonished priest declared. 

Twice more the attempt at implantation as made… with the same result. Baal, growling, stood from the throne and stalked down to the captive, now pinned on her/his stomach on the marble floor. But the hermaphrodite glared hatred and fury at him, pointed a finger and spoke one more recognizable word. “Die!”

Qetesh vaulted from her seat at the bottom of the stairs to go to her Lord’s aid as he seemed to teeter on his feet. Once again, the woman/man pointed, this time at her, and said, “Die!”

And Qetesh felt her thoughts go white as her eyes went blind…

Å 

Three days later, she awoke. She was in the middle of desert, dressed in rags, filthy, legs, arms, hands all scraped and bleeding, feet shredded, and behind her, bloody footprints in the sand back as far as she could see. She was hot, sweaty, starved, exhausted and parched to the point of collapse. 

It took her almost a week to limp and struggle back along her trail to some form of civilization… a week more than that to find a jaffa to return her to Baal’s palace. 

Baal himself didn’t re-appear for another week after that. 

They never did find that little hermaphrodite. She/he had taken their chance and run while the symbiotes were unconscious, the jaffa and priests confused and panicking without Goa’uld commands, the two hosts taking advantage of the situation and running for their lives. Baal’s host had actually boarded a ship, which explained why it took her Lord longer to return home. 

But the first thing Baal did was send out warnings to all the Goa’uld, by vo’cume, by personal messengers in udajeets, by any means at his disposal. And he issued his own edict… Kill the hermaphrodites. Kill them all, wherever they are found. No hesitation, no quarter. Kill them!

Å 

Vala told her story next morning in the Command Tower conference room, to Woolsey, Carter, Jack, her SG-1 team mates, AR-1, and of course, Tony and Spencer. 

“There were two problems with Baal’s plan to rid himself of a subset of humans who could kill a primta, or suppress a fully mature Goa’uld symbiote. The first was that none of the other Goa’uld would take his word for it. Well, of course not, they were Goa’uld, after all. Like a wet paint sign, they all felt they had to poke at it, test the problem themselves. At least half failed to survive the test. When their hosts ran, they were vulnerable, and most hosts, after the taste of freedom, feeling their monster re-awaken, killed themselves rather than return to bondage. Stranded too far from their bases of power and their sarcophagi, the symbiotes died too.

“But even when convinced, no matter how many zeds the Goa’uld managed to find and kill... and it seemed that, overnight, they all but vanished, into hiding… there were more born in the next generation. The Z chromosome was already everywhere, hidden, unknown, in ten percent of the population, only waiting for the contribution of the ATA portion to emerge as zeds. Now that I say it aloud… I can’t help but wonder if the wasting sickness of the Queens, that soon killed Athtart, Anat, Heng-O… one in ten? Because their hosts were Z-positive, maybe, and therefore incompatible with a breeding symbiote? Regardless… the rebel leader, the Hermaphrodite, had spies who told him/her what was possible for a sufficiently desperate and furious zed.

“There inevitably came a time when even Ra had to admit defeat. He had too many enemies, too much strife on all sides, and suddenly an enemy able to bend the minds of jaffa and Goa’uld alike. He dealt harshly with his greatest critics, Hathor, Osiris, Isis, although Set escaped his net… Ra was driven out of Heliopolis, relocated himself and the stargate any number of times… until his last stronghold was his ha’tak. And when the Hermaphrodite made his final move, Ra simply packed up and left. Why he didn’t attempt to bomb Egypt into a lifeless crater, or ever attempt a return to re-take his greatest, most valuable territory, but kept its location secret down the centuries? I can only guess. There were rumors that the Hermaphrodite actually managed to reach his ha’tak throne room on the last day… and that he/she commanded Ra to leave, to trouble the people no more, and to never return.

“There was a general diaspora of the Goa’uld after that… some, like Baal and Qetesh, had already left the First World with holds full of human slaves… every one examined to ensure they were normal human. Once on other planets, they continued their mission to eradicate the zeds… such humans were just too much of a challenge to Goa’uld supremacy. My guess is that, while there may have been Z-positives among the slaves, maybe even the jaffa, there was no one to pass on an ATA gene. Because we all know there are no zeds in the Milky Way galaxy, apart from those on Earth.”

Spencer frowned. “So began a zeitgeist that saw the Furalin as enemies, dangerous, a people to be feared and destroyed. But there was already a pronounced suspicion of them… witches, lesser humans, slaves of slaves… That could only have come from the Lanteans, who brought them to Earth as servants, and resented the necessity of interbreeding with them, tainting their own race.”

Jack O’Neill tapped a pen on the table. “So… what have we learned? That we could have used some zed help when we were fighting the Goa’uld? Well, duh. And that zed prejudice dates back at least that far? Okay… does it help us here and now or change our priorities? I don’t think so. It also doesn’t help us with any of our bigger, more immediate issues. So… okay, fine, it fills in some blanks and explains a few things that I certainly always wondered about… Earth was left alone all those thousands of years… except for maybe the occasional raid for slaves by mothership… because Ra was given a psychic command he couldn’t over-ride, and the other Goa’uld either didn’t have Earth’s address, were too scared of him to go behind his back, or, more likely, nervous about facing the same opposition on our little blue world that he did. So thanks, Vala. Next time we trip over a Goa’uld survivor trying to recapture past Goa’uld glory, we’ll toss Daniel, Tony and Reid at them. That sound good to you guys?”

Daniel scowled, still lost in thought over Vala’s revelations. “And this is different than our usual plans because…?”

Tony grinned. “I don’t mind arresting a few megalomaniac slavers with delusions of grandeur and a sick fascination for gold spandex. You, Probie?”

“Arresting a clearly psychopathic unsub mass murderer? Just another day at the office for me.” 

Jack snorted. “You guys are a riot. Why don’t you wait until you actually have to face one before making jokes about ten years of my fucking life. Okay?”

Tony raised one eloquent eyebrow. “Who says I’m joking?”

Å


	5. Empty Planet

Å 

Eli sat at complete ease in Colonel Carter’s office, smiling benignly as both administrative heads of the Expedition exerted superhuman efforts not to lose their collective minds. At his back, his faithful shadow stiffened warily, prepared for this to go from ugly to violent. This unwanted interloper foisted upon them had just superseded every protocol, every authority, every bit of common sense the Pegasus outpost possessed, and his only excuse was ‘IOA orders’, something they had both heard far too much of already from that quarter. What *really* burned Colonel Samantha Carter was that she was pretty damn sure the IOA wasn’t so much ordering Eli David, as sitting back and gleefully watching him make a mess of their mission. Guess Jack was right, and they really hadn’t liked feeling out of the loop. 

But to have this virtual – maybe even actual – mole in their ranks, taking the initiative to invite a whole lot of border-line enemies onto the city? Oh hell no! Travelers? And rogue Genii? Ladon Radim was going to have a hairy fit over that when he found out, and he *would* find out, and he wouldn’t be the only one. Next to wraith worshippers, she couldn’t think of a single other population in the galaxy who were more disliked or more distrusted than the loose cannons of fractured Genii groups wandering around out there, acting like outlaws and banditos. 

Richard practically had smoke coming out of his ears. His first year as administrative head of the city had taught him a lot about *real politik* as it pertained to Pegasus, so he was no longer the starry-eyed compromiser he used to be. Some alliances just weren’t worth the paper they were written on, even as out-house supplies, and that went double when it came to either of those two groups. But he was at least experienced enough, and a good enough politician, to keep his cool. 

So he said, in an impressively mild voice, “To what end? You have read the reports about our past interactions with rogue Genii and Traveler captains, correct? Letting them onto the city, given their… unreliability, seems like it’s just asking for trouble. Tell me, Eli, would you invite al Qaeda and ISIS into your high-security Tel Aviv head quarters for a talk? Or would you rather choose a neutral location, bristling with security forces, to ensure everyone plays nice? Would you not demand they prove themselves trust-worthy before letting them anywhere within your home, armed, no less?”

Eli’s eyes narrowed, but his smile remained fixed in place. “When I received this assignment, I was directed by the IOA that my primary objective was to see if I could correct the… shall we call them mistakes? – that led to animosity between this Expedition and those two groups. They do not believe that enough of an effort has been put forth to make the necessary alliances. I have assurances from both parties that they will…. ‘play nice’. And you cannot deny, their sources of information and intelligence are superlative. We need such sources. Yes, we are surrounded by enemies in Pegasus, some who want to eat us, and we need more friends. Simply writing off these groups, powerful groups with powerful alliances of their own, based on the actions of just two individuals, Captain Larrin and Acastus Kolya, is not reasonable. Surely you see that.”

It was Sam’s turn to narrow her eyes. “What I see is that a man who hasn’t been here more than two months, who never even heard of Pegasus before that, and has never actually faced a Wraith, is sitting here in my office, claiming to be in control of a situation he knows *nothing* about, and has had absolutely zero experience of. I don’t know who you’ve been talking to on those little fact-gathering missions of yours, but I suspect they’re the wrong people. You’re being played, Mr. David, or you’re playing us. At the very *least*, you should have cleared this meeting with us before you volunteered the city for a venue. As such, I’m going to say no. Call them up and tell them to go home, or give them the address of an alternate venue, a neutral planet where you can hold your little get-together. If you insist Expedition leadership be involved, we’ll re-schedule, possibly, after we’ve followed proper protocols, and vetted them for ourselves. Once we are *all* in agreement, and that includes the rest of the city command staff, General O’Neill, Colonel Sheppard, Dr. McKay and Ms Emmagen, then we’ll see about the possibility of holding your summit.”

Now Eli stiffened, and lost his smile, eyes black and cold. “That is unacceptable. They are already committed and are in transit. It will be difficult to reach them to inform them of a change of plans, and, at this stage, can only be detrimental to the trust I have been at some pains to establish. The IOA has given me complete authority and complete autonomy from your protocols. 

“Come now, Colonel Carter, how many times must we have this same conversation? How many times must you challenge my position here? It didn’t work when General O’Neill tried to protest, it won’t be any different for you. Isn’t there a saying Dr. McKay likes to quote? The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. But go ahead. Call them up if you like, the entire IOA Council is in agreement that my commands over-rule any objections you may have. I insist you greet our visitors when they arrive, and allow them access to the city.”

Oh, Sam *sooo* wanted to call up the IOA and tell them they were being shit-heads, and were letting another shit-head ride rough-shod over a city that was all too vulnerable to attack, if you let the bastard barbarians in the front gates… 

“You know what, Mr. David? We will try this just one more time.” She stood up, exchanged a glance with Richard, who was glaring daggers at Eli and backing her up all the way, and strode out to the Command Deck. “Chuck? Dial Earth. We need a word of clarification from the IOA. Until further notice, I want you to keep the shields up at maximum, and double check the long range scanners for anyone headed in our direction. I’m going to alert the SGC that we will be ready to re-connect for the IOA in an hour. Until then, the only parties authorized to come through the gate are our own teams.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The dialing sequence ran, the gush of blue roared out, and Eli stood looking smug and assured, ready to lord it over her yet again. But in this instance, Sam was hoping the time it would take to wake, challenge and annoy the IOA members – all of them – would give her time to prepare her arguments. Also, she had AR-1 off on a mission, not expected back for another two days, and SG-1 scheduled to go on another Furling hunt today, with General O’Neill in tow. She wanted both premier teams – not to mention their two strongest ATA carriers – on the city if she was forced to bow to Eli’s crazy plan.

Because, oh yeah, Sam could smell the beginning of a FUBAR cluster-fuck a mile off, and this had all the indications. If her city was going down in flames, she wanted to fry the people responsible for it on her way down with it.

Å 

Daniel, with Spencer’s help, had identified three regions of Pegasus where he believed Furling colonies might be located. But the problem was that each region was pretty big, with a dozen or more viable planets in each, all with stargates. So it was like blind-folding himself and throwing a dart at a board, hoping to hit the target. 

MG7 224 used to be a small but self-sufficient settlement of farmers and hunters, not unlike the Athosians, but their trading partners had lost contact with them a year or so before the Atlantis Expedition arrived. Their Genii sources reported they’d been culled to extinction, or if there were survivors, they’d run and hid, or been absorbed into other populations. Not that Jack thought the Genii were a totally reliable source… he had problems with any group who tried to take over his city and killed his people to accomplish that. The fact that Ladon Radim was playing nice *now* didn’t mean much to Jack, when Ladon had been part of Kolya’s invasion force. But Elizabeth Weir had trusted him, to a point, and so did Sam Carter, so Jack had to just shrug, and ask if the Travelers were able to verify. 

And, yeah, okay, Sheppard had as much difficulty trusting the Travelers as Jack did the Genii… which Jack didn’t get, because, honestly? Some of Earth’s best alliances began with some alien kidnapping Danny and/or SG-1 as a whole. It was practically their favorite tactic for opening negotiations. But, sure, yeah, he could see why Sheppard had a problem with Larrin. That chick was clearly psycho.

Anyway, what was Jack’s point? Oh yeah, reports on MG7 224. He didn’t much like the idea of searching a community that had been culled by the Wraith. Didn’t that mean, by definition, that it couldn’t be one they were looking for? Plus, Jack was getting an itchy feeling that maybe the Furling were deliberately avoiding them. Maybe waiting for something. Maybe for Daniel to grow zed spots? And with the Wraith worshippers making moves on other members of the Expedition… he just didn’t like the idea of SG-1 going out to a culled world. The Wraith had a bad habit of leaving alerts and alarms on planets they’d been to. 

But, big surprise, he was over-ruled. He did, however, insist on tagging along. To Mitchell’s not-so-secret horror. The colonel he was grooming to succeed him already knew he was barely along for the ride with a team full of independent thinkers and veteran explorers who knew far more than he did about…. Well, just about everything. Yeah, Cam, welcome to his life. The younger man would just have to cope with an arm-chair quarterback with dodgy knees.

But when SG-1 assembled in the Control Tower, it was to find Eli David and his daughter orchestrating something of a minor coup against the Expedition leaders. Jack huffed, and held a hand up to Cam Mitchell. 

“Put the mission on ice, just for a minute, Mitchell. I need to see what has Carter’s knickers in such a twist.”

Å 

Sitting ramrod straight in front of the monitor, General Jonathan ‘Jack’ O’Neill had gone very quiet, and very serious. For those who knew him, those were sure signs that he was about to declare war. He stared down the entire IOA board on the other side of the screen.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I serve you notice right now. I have already received signed and documented assurances from each and every government you represent that, should one more of your unilateral decisions result in property damage, or, god forbid, loss of life, you will *all* be fired from your places on the IOA, from your governments, and possibly the human race, your security clearances revoked and passports voided. Depending upon the scope of the damage, other sanctions might be assigned. So think carefully. 

“Every one of the command staff for the Atlantis Expedition, including myself as Director of Home World Security, have logged official objections, told you flat out that this meeting is ill-advised and dangerous, a clear threat to the security of the city. Do you still insist we must agree to let it continue?”

A few of the faces paled, and glanced at their fellows… but that son of a bitch Antoine DuPont was adamant. “Eli David has spent his entire career in counter terrorist, counter intelligence work. He knows what he’s doing, I assure you. And, frankly? We trust his word more than we trust yours, General O’Neill. He at least, hasn’t been lying to us all along and hiding information we are entitled to know!”

Under his breath, Jack muttered, “As far as you know.” To his own certain knowledge, not one word about zeds or the ATA gene had made it to Eli’s IOA reports.

“You have your orders, General. Carry them out.”

“Yes sir. O’Neill out.”

Jack gave a heavy sigh as he met Carter’s resigned eyes. “Well, we knew it was only a matter of time before that bastard David went too far. I wish it hadn’t come the very day we’ve got a mission planned and AR-1 is out of pocket for a good twenty four hours more… probably part of his cunning plan… Let’s go give Eli the good news. His enemy summit is a go. Teal’c? When he goes all smug and smarmy? Hold me back so I don’t just slit his throat for him?” 

The big jaffa just lifted an eyebrow, which was Teal’c-speak for ‘No promises.’ 

Å 

After the delay of two hours, SG-1 finally emerged from the side-ways flusher into, shocker, a rain forest of what looked like redwoods and firs, filled in with a bushy undergrowth layer. There was a barely-there game trail leading away into the green mists. Jack had seen thousands just like it. And while Cam tried, really he did, Daniel surged out ahead in point, even Teal’c lifting a disapproving eyebrow as he followed gamely behind the archeologist. Vala grinned and shrugged, skipping a little to catch up to the boys, with Cam and Jack bringing up the rear. 

Half an hour later, they came to the ruins of a what was probably a temporary hunting camp, anything fabric in the tent-like structures disintegrated, any leather in torn pieces as if nibbled off their frames by wild animals, ad only the wooden poles, left, broken or tumbled to the ground. The camp was surrounded by fallow fields of crops left to cultivate themselves, a few rusted artifacts even Daniel mostly ignored. There was no evidence in the collapsed rooves and walls and over-grown weed-choked pathways that anyone had been there in years. 

Oh, except for the Wraith dart just now hovering overhead, and the white wash of a reverse culling beam, landing a squad of soldiers and a collection of human-appearing Wraith-worshippers in an empty field, all turned to stare at SG-1. When the dart landed, the pilot, an albino-looking drone lord, joined them.

Terrific.

Å 

Spencer was a lot faster and more accurate with the small amount of paperwork their little office generated, that Garcia didn’t already handle automatically, so he had taken over that duty from Tony. Not that Tony was a slouch at it… he certainly read it all over to keep up to date, if nothing else, only occasionally offering suggestions or requesting clarification. And he insisted on checking all of Garcia’s work – for passages in Hebrew, he muttered. Sometimes an alien AI didn’t realise when it needed to connect a few extra dots, fill in a rough outline, or, conversely, edit out unnecessary detail. But then, that’s what human operators were for.

But the job didn’t really take all of Spencer’s attention, most of it focused on his Boss. 

Carson was speculating maybe one more week before Tony was due, but with first babies, Spencer’s research indicated due dates were, at best, a guess. And he had done a *lot* of research, for JJ’s first pregnancy, terrified that she was playing chicken with Henry, trying to squeeze every minute she could out of work so she could enjoy the most time with her son in maternity leave after his birth. Spencer had frequent nightmares of JJ abruptly going into labor while on the BAU jet, with no landing strip close enough for the emergency landing. So his attempt to qualify as an unofficial mid-wife for just such eventualities had been helpful and, he hoped, reassuring, both with Michael, and for Kate Callahan’s pregnancy, and had definitely come in handy for that one case where the unsub had kept his pregnant wife hostage until, by the time the team had rescued her and subdued the husband, it was too late to get her to a hospital. 

Yeah, Spencer had actual practical experience in assisting a birth. He was actually kind of proud of that.

But he thought, just maybe, his Boss, once again taking advantage of Teyla being away on a mission to spend time at the office, was getting a tiny bit impatient with his Probie’s laser focus. Because, when the comm channel opened from the Command Deck for NCIS assistance, Tony exclaimed, “Oh thank God! We got an emergency on MG4 003. You go, I’ll call Anne to scramble AR-5. And watch out for Wraith-worshippers! You’re two-for-two with ambushes this week alone.”

Å 

The call-out for assistance was to another community the Expedition had not yet met directly, MG4 003. It wasn’t on the Atlantis database, or the list of Teyla’s Athosian trading contacts. But a probe sent through the gate (something McKay had found, dozens in a forgotten closet, the size of a grapefruit, that hovered, and, once ‘enhanced’ by the scientist, replaced the big and bulky MALPs the SGC had used for years) showed a collection of frantic natives pleading for help.

Major Teldy led the way, Spencer tucked securely in the middle of her team, next to Porter, with Mehra and Cadman on their six. 

But no sooner had they cleared the event horizon, than some kind of stunner fired by unknowns from behind them… sent them all to the ground, out cold, to the slate-scratching yowls of two extremely annoyed familiars.

Å 

Anne Teldy woke with a groan, a splitting headache, a yowling and bristling Orion, surrounded by the worried hand-wringing locals of MG4 003, all shouting at her that it wasn’t their fault, they hadn’t known the terrorists who had attacked them were rogue Genii, and they had been held hostage while the strangers had made off with the Magic Veralin, taking him through the gate, and no, none of them saw the address. Please, not to kill them for their foolishness for having been tricked and forced! They would *never* have betrayed any Veralin, much less the Hope of the Galaxy!

Anne groaned. “Great,” she growled. “Tell me again, Cadman, why didn’t we put a bell on our boy? Mehra, dial Atlantis. We need S&R, soonest. Alison, pry the lid off the DHD, see if you can get us an address. And Orion? Kindly shut up. Your noise is driving spikes though my brain.”

Å 

SG-1 had been swift to get their weapons up, aimed, and primed, but their welcoming party made no hostile moves. 

Daniel – naturally, because, zed conversions notwithstanding, the man does *not* change – surged out between the two groups, holding his hands up. “Stop! Everyone just… be calm.” Then he called out to the Wraith party, “What do you want with us?” 

Yeah, Jack glanced at Teal`c and Cam and knew all three of them pretty much hated this plan. If there had been one goal Jack had made for himself when he left Earth, it was that Daniel would *not* be allowed to face down the Wraith. Yeah, sure. Who had he been kidding?

“Daniel...”

“Just... wait a minute, Jack. You can always start shooting after we find out what they want.” Then he addressed the Wraith. “I am Daniel Jackson. We are peaceful explorers. We want no trouble.”

“You are Lanteans,” said the Wraith lord. You could tell he was a ranking guy, because he wasn’t wearing minimal tunics of homespun like the worshippers, or armor and masks like the butt-ugly soldiers, and his long black leather coat was actually, much as Jack didn’t want to admit it, kinda cool. The Pegasus bad guys at least had a better sense of style.

“We come from the city of the Ancestors, yes.”

“You serve the Magic Veralin?”

Daniel nodded. “Sure, okay. I guess we do in a way. He is definitely a respected advisor to our people.”

“We would speak to him. My Queen wishes to talk to him.”

“May I ask what about?”

“The dinner menu, no doubt,” Cam muttered under his breath. 

“The Asurans have come to us. They did not attack. They came and spoke and then left in peace. They brought a warning. They said these words: 

“Everything is Magic. All life, all sentience, has value. Give up your destructive ways. Attempt to live by this rule: Treat all others as you would have them treat you. There is a way for you to change your ways so you do not need to kill others to eat. Chose change, and you will survive. Chose not to change, and your enemies will never stop making war on you, until you are all dead. If you chose to change, come to us, and we will give you the means.

“So said the Asurans. And then they left us. This message they bring to all the hives of the Wraith, and all the communities of our worshippers. My Queen, and many others, believe the Asurans speak of the disease the not-Wraith-King you call Michael brought to many. The one that transforms us into a lesser being, not quite human, not quite Wraith. The disease was created by you, Lanteans. It was forced on the not-Wraith-King. The not-Wraith-King forced it on many others, Wraith and humans alike. Would you force this on us?”

“No,” Daniel said at once. “We would not force anything on you. We would only fight to defend ourselves and our people. Michael was a terrible mistake, yes, my people freely admit this, and we have suffered from that mistake every bit as much as you. But the retro-virus that was used to transform him into a hybrid, that was not a mistake. That is a very real option for you to consider.”

The Wraith stared. “We would speak to the Magic Veralin on this subject. We would ask why the Asuran carry his message. We would ask what he intends for us to do. We would know if he will punish us if we say no.”

“You may ask me anything you would ask the Magic Veralin, and I will do my best to answer, just as he would.”

The albino-white creature considered Daniel. “You are not Veralin.”

“Not yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have myself taken a treatment that will transform me into a Veralin. The changes have already begun in me. It will take some time, but soon I will be Veralin.” 

Which is when Aten sauntered up, invisible up until now, so that Jack hadn’t realised he had followed them through the gate. But he now sat himself at Daniel’s feet, all silky white beauty and majesty, to level a blue stare at the Wraith lord.

The Wraith lord and all the others were shocked by this revelation, staring between the cat and the man. Jack’s grip on his P-90 tightened... it was anyone’s guess what the Wraith would make of this. 

Å 

When Spencer finally roused, it was to find himself tied to a chair in a rude shack… for an unnerving second he thought he was having a nightmare, or flashback to Tobias Hankel… but no burning fish guts. And his shoes and socks were still on. And Bast was sitting placidly at his ankle, calmly licking her paw. This was the only thing enabling him to keep from totally freaking out. And even so, he felt his temper pushed beyond his usual calm control. 

He struggled in the ropes that bound him, rattling the chair, and yelled, “You stunned me! You stupid bastards! I’m *pregnant* you assholes! You might have harmed my babies!”

The silver-haired man standing staring at him with coal-black eyes was unknown to him. But the person standing next to him, tall, cadaverously thin, pallid-skinned and eyes black edge to edge, was recognizable from type. Wraith worshipper. And one who was heavily addicted to Wraith enzyme.

It was the older man who answered with a smirk, “I’d worry about yourself, if I were you, Veralin.”

Spencer focused all of his fury on the man. “If you did *anything* to harm my babies, you will never hear me coming. And you will die in *agony*!”

As certain as the man must be that he was in control of this situation, and as hardened and experienced as he evidently was, he couldn’t, quite, suppress a shudder at Spencer’s threat. Good. The gawky young nerd image he usually projected didn’t allow for effective threats. Apparently, approaching motherhood changed that. And the only thing keeping him even a little calm in this situation was that Bast seemed sublimely unconcerned. He was pretty sure he could trust her estimation of threat level, or perhaps, his ability to handle it.

His Furling mentor, Jahar, had warned that the Wraith worshippers were resistant to Furalin abilities. Spencer wondered about that. This seemed to be the perfect time to test it out. It wasn’t like he had much other choice. 

Before the unknown man spoke, Spencer had already read his name and surface intent. Rogue Genii. 

“I am Pyol Sovar, representative of the Genii people. I have made alliance with this man, he acknowledges no name, and he requested an audience with the Magic Veralin.”

“You aren’t any part of the legally constituted leadership of the Genii,” Spencer corrected. “You’re rogue, at best, at worst, a traitor to your own people, and all humans, if you make deals with the Wraith.”

Sovar shrugged. He had an impressive poker face, unwilling to admit how rattled he was by Spencer’s intuition. To tell the truth, Spencer didn’t much need his psychic mind-whammy to read the man. Any profiler would know him for a political opportunist and ambitious power-hungry despot wannabe. His kind led military coups and military juntas all over Earth.

But it was time to take the measure of the no-name Wraith worshipper. 

There was hunger in this one, too, to accomplish a sacred mission, for which Spencer was a necessary stepping stone.

“The Asurans have visited the hives,” he said, staring intently on the bound captive. “If they have not yet reached all, they soon will. They have given a message. The Queens are considering. Most Queens have said No to the proposals and warnings. They mount a response even now. But some… some are considering other… options. 

“The hives are starving. There is not enough food, and much of it is tainted in ways the Wraith do not understand, and cannot detect, until eating of it kills them. Already, many hives drift dead in space, all aboard a victim of the tainted and poisoned food within. Most have dumped all food stores in deep space, knowing none of it can be trusted. But what are they to eat, then? More still have tried to push themselves into hibernation. But a Wraith, any Wraith, even the grown hive ships, must feed well before being placed in stasis, build a reserve of energy upon which to subsist, even with marginal metabolism, or their cells will attempt to digest their very tissues from the inside out while they sleep. So those seeking sanctuary in hibernation have been forced to feed upon their Worshippers, if any remain to them, or, at last resort, the soldiers of the hive, all the newer generations spawned, the youngest and weakest among them first, leaving few to defend the hives in their sleep. And a hive in hibernation upon the ground is vulnerable to attack by any human group who comes upon them. We have no doubt that the Travelers, the many splintered Genii groups and your own Lanteans, can easily locate us and destroy us at will. Without access to new hunting grounds, what are we to do? 

“And in this time of crisis, the Asurans have come to us with a message, not to eat, so we may have truce with our food. How can this be? Since the Asurans carry your message, Magic Veralin, we would know from you what you mean by this. What do you intend we do?”

Okay, Spencer had been rather afraid of this, and McKay had certainly warned him. 

What the *hell* had he said to them, anyway? 

He sighed. 

“Perhaps you can tell me exactly what the Asurans are saying, and then I’ll answer your questions.”

Å 

Daniel frowned, collecting his thoughts, and Jack could only smile. This ought to be good, a Daniel Jackson specialty, with his silver tongue and facility with speaking anyone’s own language, talking aliens down from mass slaughter. There was a reason Earth had survived the past ten-plus years intact, and it was all down to Jack’s secret weapon.

“We have a saying where I come from. Change, or die. All living things must adapt to the changing conditions around them, evolve, learn, grow, or they fail to survive the challenges of life. You know this, yes?”

The Wraith lord considered this, but all around him, his various minions were nodding enthusiastically. “Yes, I know this,” he confessed, and Jack figured Daniel had pretty much won with just that one admission. 

“I have heard a legend of the Furling. An advanced race, once allies of the Ancestors themselves. You know of them?”

“I do.”

“They were few, and suffered a devastating natural disaster to their home world. To survive, the Ancestors offered them an option to extinction. They offered to change them. To make of them a hybrid creature, capable of breeding with either the Ancestors or the True Furling. And this ancient, wise and advanced race said yes. They changed. They became Furling, and Furalin. And they survived. This you know, because as hard as the Wraith have tried to wipe them from existence, still they survive.”

The Wraith drone nodded reluctantly, glancing warily at those around him, uncomfortable with admitting failure before them. 

“Part of this legend of the Furling and the Furalin, tells of a time when the Ancestors, the first Lanteans, had admitted defeat at the hands of the Wraith, and fled from this galaxy, back to their home far away. They were very few then, and like the Furling before them, faced extinction. But the Furling and Furalin offered them the same option. And so the Ancestors, the Lanteans, the Alterans, whichever name you know them by, they changed. They bred with Furling, Furalin, and humans. And so they survived. Much has been lost and forgotten to time, but this story we have re-learned. And you know yourselves, that the Lanteans live on in us, their descendants. They changed, and therefore we live. But we are all hybrids, of Furling, Furalin, Alterans and humans. I was human, but have chosen to embrace change, to become Furalin. 

“We fight for our survival. You do, we do, all that live do. And every action, every decision, every new challenge we meet and take on changes us. What are you willing to do, Wraith, to survive? Because you know, we will not stop until our enemies are defeated. Chose to be our enemy, and fight us until one side or the other is dead. But be warned, you stand to lose more than we do, even if you should win. Because who will you eat then? Or change, and survive. This is your choice. It should not have needed the Asurans coming to you for you to realise this. Why shouldn’t you have to change too, like everyone, everything, else?”

“Everything is magic... The not-Wraith King, the one you call Michael, was an abomination. A walking evil, enemy of all. He changed.”

“Michael was not given a choice. It made him furious with everyone – us for changing him against his will, you for making him a hated outcast for something not his fault. He raged against his fate. I can’t say I blame him. It was a horrible thing done to him. Taking his choice away. We will not do that again. You chose, or you don’t, but we will fight an enemy that chooses to eat us. And from this day forth, that is exactly your choice. Eat us and be our sworn enemy in a fight to the death, or change, and have truce and a measure of peace. But think on this. If you chose to change... what, exactly, are you giving up? Starvation, being vulnerable in hibernation, letting hunger betray you into poisoning yourselves... or taking the retro-virus, and gaining a more... varied diet?”

The Wraith seemed startled by this radical opinion. 

“I will take your words back to my hive. We will consider well what choice we make. But we may want more words. We still wish to confer with the Magic Veralin.”

With a gesture, the soldiers and worshippers assembled into a clump, and the Wraith drone lord climbed into his dart, lifted and used his culling beam to sweep all of his minions into the dart buffers. Then the little craft zoomed away... and, distantly, Jack heard the echo of a gate opening in the forest. 

“Phew!” Vala commented quite accurately, to general agreement. 

Jack grinned and clapped his best friend and *bête noir* on the back. That was his Danny. His mouth was definitely Earth’s secret weapon. 

Å 

Spencer finished with, “Humans will fight for their survival. If the Wraith will not bend, humans will fight to the death, of one side or the other. Truce is the only way to peace, to the survival of *both* races. Every life has value.”

“Everything is Magic,” said the wraith-worshipper. It was weird, hearing that come from such an alien mind-set. As if it were an incantation. 

Spencer was beginning to see what Jahar and the Furling found so… impenetrable, about the wraith worshippers. Yes, they were flooded with endorphins from Wraith enzyme, their very brain chemistry altered by the alien drug, to the point where it barely seemed human any more. But Spencer knew this. Intimately, from the inside out. 

This was addiction. It wasn’t just chemical and biological dependence upon an artificial or external substance that offered such apparent benefits as freedom from pain, euphoria, a sense of invulnerability and therefore freedom from fear also… It was the resulting psychological dependence that closed mental pathways, made denial and rejection of logic and reason such attractive alternatives. Buried deep was the waiting realization that the addict was betraying everything good in his life… but he was also turning his back on every failure, every inadequacy, every fear and vulnerability. It was almost no choice at all. Sure, the crash would come, the precious gift could be withheld at the whim of the pusher, and as immortal as one could feel, immortality was just another illusion of the drug… and the desperation to have the gift back could drive anyone to any extreme of action. Acknowledging fact, truth, the hardships and vagaries of life and survival, facing your weaknesses and overcoming them on your own… how much harder it would be after this. Knowing how easily you could slough that all away.

Oh yeah, Spencer knew this. And he knew just the route to take around the barriers an addicted mind could put up, how to punch through the chemical imbalances, how to drive straight to the secret screaming heart of the addict…

He just needed a little more time… a little more strength… Bast leapt into his lap and he closed his eyes to reach even deeper…

But the wraith-worshipper had already given the command… and once more, he felt engulfed in a stun ray… 

Å 

Pyol Sovar groaned as he struggled back to awareness. His lieutenant, young Myla Wirrin, was also stirring painfully, and he could hear outside the hut the sounds of others of his protection squad getting to their feet. But of the Magic Veralin, there was only the cut pieces of rope lying beneath his chair. Even the damn cat was gone.

He groaned again at the monumental headache. The damn wraith-worshipper had taken the Veralin. And they needed that boy, and his Ancestor-given powers over Ancestor tech, to take Atlantis. Hopefully, that wily bastard Eli had a back-up plan for this eventuality. After all, it had been all too likely that the Wraith would have gone to any lengths to grab the Magic Veralin from them, once they confirmed they had him. 

He settled himself into the vacated chair, and reached out a hand. Anticipating his need, as ever, Myla placed the communicator in it. He sent the signal, and waited for an answer. To preserve secrecy, Eli sometimes needed some time to get to a secure location to speak openly. 

On this occasion, however, there was not much lag time. Eli responded almost immediately.

“What news?”

“We were successful in taking Dr. Reid, but… The contact took him from us. We no longer have the Veralin, Eli. What now?”

“That is… unfortunate. But not catastrophic. Atlantis forces have just been alerted to rally for a search and rescue operation. They will soon be at your location, looking for Reid, so you’d better leave as soon as possible. Use every evasive technique you have at your disposal, for the Atlantis crew *will* hunt you down for this. Gather every follower you have, rendezvous with your Traveler ally, and come here with all speed. Sheppard and his team are on a mission for at least one more day, General O’Neill and his SG-1 team will join the Search and Rescue with a number of the military teams. That’s the two strongest ATA gene carriers out of the city for at least a day. With so many Lantean military personnel dispersed across the galaxy, some on missions, many more looking for Reid, Atlantis will be as understaffed as it can be. This is our best chance.”

“Acknowledged,” Sovar agreed. He might have known the man would have contingencies for his contingencies. He looked up at Myla. “Gather our team. We’re leaving.”

Å 

Spencer woke to Bast’s rasping tongue scraping his chin. He was unable to prevent a groan from erupting from his throat. Those stun rays were brutal. But at least he didn’t seem to be injured. 

He was, however, surrounded by a fume of humid, musty, re-circulated air, filled with a variety of scents that were… unutterably alien. And, just beginning his second trimester, he found himself rather over-sensitive to strong unexpected scents.

He blinked, struggled to sit up on the slightly rubbery floor surface, and stared into the dimly lit space, large as the Command Tower control deck, equipped with organic-looking machinery and devices, staffed by the albino long-haired drones, and a raised dais at one end, where sat…

A Wraith Queen. And ranged around her throne-like seat, standing, and looking just a little resentful about being forced to assume subordinate-seeming positions, five other Wraith Queens. Eleven more armed Wraith drones ranged around him on what was obviously a hive ship bridge, escorts for the Queens.

And every one of them was fucking *starving*.

Panic flooded him with waves of hot and cold, threatened to make him pass out again as his heart-rate hit warp speed… 

Lucky, wasn’t it, that he did his best work in conditions of extreme terror?

Å 

Jack led SG-1 through the gate to MG4 003, to join the seven other Atlantis teams already in place for Search & Rescue operations, just waiting for the chance to go make a mess of someone’s big bad plan. Jack quickly located Anne Teldy, hovering over Dr. Alison Porter’s shoulder, as if annoying the engineer would make her give up her answers more quickly. Rodney had been left on the city, far too close to term to allow out of Carson’s sight, along with the rest of the sciences team. It wasn’t as if multiplying the number of heads and hands poking around the inside of the DHD would get them an address any quicker. This was not Porter’s first rodeo, and she knew her job. 

“Teldy. Whatcha got?”

Porter glanced up briefly and mouthed ‘thank you’ to Jack as she continued her work. 

Teldy reluctantly dragged herself away from the only action in the extremely quiet meadow. The locals had vacated the area with all haste, only too relieved to avoid any blame and responsibility for putting a Veralin, much less *the* Veralin, at risk. And antsy as their troops were, they were all snapping to attention with the General present, and not eager to interrupt him now. 

Because, at his shoulder, was a man who practically sparked with fury, like an over-loaded electrical connection. Colonel Cameron Mitchell, usually the most affable and laid-back of men, was almost unrecognizable right now…. Except for the fact that a few men and women observing him warily, did recognize certain tells… 

You didn’t make it far in the ranks of the military, of any country, or in any division of law enforcement, either, without hearing certain… stories. How some men and women, with certain odd… talents, would come to rely heavily on a partner, to keep them calm and level in the field. And if something should happen to that partner… 

The term Berserker was sometimes whispered. Also, the phrase ‘feral episode’. Such incidents were rare, thank god, described by witnesses and entered into official reports with… careful vagueness. The one certain common thread in these rumors was that it never ended well for whoever had threatened or injured the partner. Sometimes, there was a body left… or parts of one, at least.

Daniel was hovering around his team-lead, laying a hand on his shoulder, and it seemed to have at least some effect. But Cam was strung tight, and just waiting for a chance to erupt into action. Jack gave him a wary glance, keeping the man in his peripheral vision. Yeah, this was all he needed, for a sentinel to blow wide open on a rescue mission for his missing potential bond-mate… talk about your worst-case scenarios… 

But then, there were a number of people around the stargate not dealing particularly well with the situation. Teldy and Mehra were both half a breath from going ballistic themselves, although having Porter in reach was no doubt helping there. All of them felt Spencer Reid was one of theirs… and you just don’t endanger someone under a sentinel’s protection. Not and survive the experience.

“Teldy!” Jack barked out, having trouble getting, and keeping, the woman’s attention. “I need a sitrep. Tell me watcha got.”

“It was a group of rogue Genii, sir. From the descriptions, a man named Pyol Sovar. According to our intel, he’s got command of the largest rogue faction, and contacts all over the place, with the Travelers, and the wraith-worshippers... everyone. He laid a trap, stunned everyone near the stargate, then took Reid and ran. The locals had no idea what was going on. Sovar’s team came in this morning, took a bunch of hostages, shot up the market, drove most into hiding. A few snuck out to the gate and called for help… the Genii obviously let them. They had soldiers hidden in the trees, waiting for Reid to get here. Porter is about five minutes from getting an address for us…”

“Got it now!” Porter announced, stepping back, putting back enough of the DHD inner works to enable them to dial out. 

Anne Teldy glanced a question at her superior, and Jack nodded with a curt “Go!”

Porter dialed, and the stargate activated… 

Fixing this planet’s DHD and putting it all back together properly would just have to wait for another time, as someone non-essential tried to tell the locals hanging around anxiously.

Cam gave a growl that wasn’t remotely human, and as soon as the event horizon stabilized, he bolted through. 

The rest of the Expedition forces followed. 

The man was almost out of sight when they caught up on the other side, another Pacific North-west rain forest, a trace of a path, barely more than a game-trail, and some evidence, at least, of people having been through recently, foot-prints in the muddy ground. 

Cam howled with outrage when he found the empty hut, reaching out to clutch the cut-off ends of ropes. Then raced out to a nearby meadow, where the unmistakable three-pronged dents of a Wraith dart landing struts were to be seen. 

Teldy called out for scanners, then reported, rapid-fire and grim.

Jack immediately ordered a new stargate dial, then got on the radio to call Atlantis for jumper support. 

There were six, count ‘em, six Wraith Hives in orbit, complete with support cruisers, and any number of darts buzzing in this abandoned planet’s upper orbits. 

Terrific.

Å 

Spencer collected himself into a lotus position, feeling that seated was safest when he felt so groggy, still, from the stunner effects, and practically trembling from the blast of hunger engulfing him from all sides. And it was reassuring to have Bast in his lap, purring with reassuring intensity, blinking unimpressed with the Queens trying to intimidate her with staring contests. As if. She yawned widely, full of predator teeth, showing just what she thought of them, and circled her favorite cushion with tail in the air, showing her butt to her rival queens before settling for a nap.

He could only hope that, as before, this meant his babies had taken no injury from a *second* stunner blast, and Bast still believed he could get them all out of this fucked-up situation intact.

“You wanted to talk to me?” Spencer asked, blinking innocently.

Å 

Yeah, it had seemed like a good idea at the time, Jack thought, bring up a bunch of cloaked puddle jumpers. Go raid a hive ship, the biggest one, the oldest, the one in the middle, for choice, get their errant FBI profiler back… Until Cam got himself loaded onto one with AR-5, with Teldy at the stick, making… at Jack’s conservative estimate, one, two, three… a minimum of three sentinels ready to go absolutely bug-fuck on the nearest Wraith, with only one Z-positive to keep them all sane.

And that was because, he belatedly realized, Daniel had, once again, slipped his leash… Daniel, Vala and Teal’c had all followed Cam, for once… 

Crap! AR-5 and SG-1, going hunting, together? And, for once, Teal’c was *not* the scariest member of the team! 

Terrific.

Å 

The resident Queen, and Spencer assumed this because she held the command chair, stared at him intently. “What did you tell the Asurans?” she demanded.

Now that Bast was purring in his lap, Spencer got a handle on his abject terror, was able to push out the starvation focus of the Wraith surrounding him, and cope a little better with his aching head and queasy stomach. At last he was able to stretch his empathy. He had feared this… being surrounded by Wraith, their hunger, their conviction that humans were food. He knew that the Furling could, with difficulty, force into the Hive Mind and create an aversion, turn them away from certain actions and paths…

But Spencer had found a route into a wraith-worshipper that indicated another, far less invasive and difficult, means of influence. 

Slowly, he reached… and, as he had already half expected, found yet another form of addiction. Ten thousand years or more of feeding on the rush of human emotions, human energy, the heat and electricity of raw, unfiltered life. The undeniable attraction of absolute control, absolute domination over another. Exactly what every psychopathic serial killer feels, whenever they capture and torture an animal or human. But there was also the ragged edge of hunger… and a drug withheld, the cold, cold fear of coming down.

“I told the Asurans that I wanted only one thing from them, that we *all* go home, safe and well. They attacked and held hostage a village, then called for a Veralin to talk to them. That is all they wanted, for me to talk to them. So I did. They entered my mind… you know what they do? Placing a hand in my head to read my thoughts, feelings, memories. What they saw there, what they took from it… I do not know. I know I offered them peace with us. If they would leave us in peace, we would leave them alone. I quoted something my people call the Golden Rule: Treat others as you wish them to treat you. They were hoping for me to give them a direction to their existence… I did not wish to do this. They are a sentient race. What they chose to do, how they chose to act, is up to them. As it is up to all of us. They left, having harmed no one, and we have not met them again since. 

“Is this enough explanation for you?”

He could hear the subliminal whispers of their thoughts, the Queens. It was all formless questions. What, why, how… 

“Then why did the Asuran come to us with warnings, with threats, with commands that they say are yours?”

“I don’t know. I’m not Asuran.”

“But you are Veralin. They call you the Magic Veralin.”

“Yes,” Spencer agreed calmly. “I do magic tricks for the kids. It sets them at ease.” He took a shiny silver coin from his pocket, juggled it in his fingers, flashed it to appear and disappear in his hand. “I told one little girl a great truth, and a great mystery. The mystery of life.”

The Queens seemed mesmerized by his quick agile fingers, flashing the coin into and out of existence. As they watched the movements, startled each time the coin vanished, then re-appeared, the force of their hunger seemed to recede. And in one voice they said, “Everything is Magic.”

“Yes,” he agreed.

“So you do not threaten to destroy us all?” 

“Me? No. If you are threatened by anything, it is your own choices.”

One of the secondary Queens stepped forward. “Explain this.”

“You are embattled on all sides. Food is scarce. What food you do come across could very well be contaminated with Hoffan plague, and you can’t tell what is safe and what isn’t. And the humans of this galaxy, your food source, have found their strength, their hope, and fight you on all sides. Your greatest enemy is the new Lanteans. They have Atlantis. They have a retro-virus you know well has the ability to change you into a hybrid creature. Then there was Michael, the hybrid Wraith leader. He fought you out of anger that you rejected him, called him abomination, outcast, enemy. Of course he fought you. Of course Lanteans, and all humans, fight you. Our choice is to fight, with every weapon we can bring to bear, or have you eat us. In my place, what would you do?”

He used his voice, and the relentless motion of the coin, appearing and disappearing, almost as a hypnotist would, to pull in the Queens and the watching drones… and he pushed. He took what he had found in their own minds, and dragged it out of them, as if he were a feeding Wraith… letting them feel what it was to wither and weaken in torment. 

The one who had stepped nearer roared out, tossing her head back, and was the first to break free. And then the others shook free too. “What did you do?”

“I showed you what it feels like to be the food of another. Would you not fight to avoid that again?”

“You wish to make us all abominations!” screamed out the Queen on the throne. 

“No. I wish to live. I wish for all of us to live. 

“I am a mathematician, among other things. I study logic and equations. I have studied the equations of your situation. Do you wish to know what I have learned?”

The coin went round and round, in and out… the Queens nodded as one.

“Think of it as a game. Two players. A human and a Wraith. You eat me, I lose. I fight you, to the death, for the slim chance I can survive, and maybe I lose, maybe I win, but if I don’t fight, I shall certainly lose. So I choose to fight. But when I lose, and you eat me, I am dead, and there is no one else to eat. And then you lose, because you are still hungry. A game that is lose-lose is not one I want to play. Do you follow me so far?”

They nodded as one.

“So how does a player win the game? Something must change in the rules. I can stop being food, or you can stop eating me. 

“Can I stop being food? Yes, I can. I can expose myself to the Hoffan plague. This is what the Hoffans did, even though they knew it would kill half of them. If they did not, their experience, and my research, tells me that you would eat ninety percent of the population before returning to your hibernation cycle. Lose nine of ten people, or five of ten people? That equation is painful, but unavoidable. 

“But if I choose the Hoffan option, I still lose, just not as badly, and it’s cold comfort that I make you lose worse, by making you die of starvation or poisoning. Losing half of everyone I know, maybe even myself… this is not a win for me. I have two babies growing within me now… even if one should survive and the other die, I would never think of that as a win.” Just the thought, of losing Dimmy or JJ… maybe both… he let that horror and grief, that devastation, swell within him… then pushed it out, around the edges of hunger, straight into the Hive Mind. When the Queens reared back, aghast, he pulled it back in. “But I would do it.” Now, he let them feel his determination. “If the only way we have to win, even a little, is to sacrifice half of everyone, then we will do it. And then you have no one to eat, and you lose.

“What about the other option? Can you choose to stop eating us? Yes you can. You can choose to take the retro-virus. Your biology will change, you’ll look different, you’ll smell and feel different, you will be unable to eat of us as you do now, but you will be able to digest regular food, vegetation and meat, which is plentiful, does not fight back and won’t poison you, if you’re careful. A hive queen would need to re-impress with the changed members. Is this more or less difficult than starvation, risking food-poisoning, or battling Atlantis? That’s for you to decide. 

“Of course, we also have the option of trying to spread the retro-virus to all the hives without your permission or choice… That would not be my preference. I think the Lantean Expedition has tried that before, with indifferent success. I would much prefer for you to realize your options for winning the game come down to one. Just one. Choose to change.

“Unless something in this equation changes, none of us will get what we want. You will continue to attack, to feed, we will continue to fight you, until one or other of us are completely destroyed. Even one Wraith alive to feed on us is unacceptable to us. And if you eat us to the last human, then what do you do? Eat each other? I know you can do this. Perhaps your soldiers allow it. Perhaps they have no choice. I don’t know. I’m not Wraith. Perhaps this inevitable outcome is acceptable to you.”

“No!” proclaimed several of the Queens, glaring at the enthroned first Queen.

“I can’t see any other possibility. Can you?” 

“I can see one,” said the First Queen. She stood from her throne and stalked forward to loom over him, her grin wide and evil. She reached for him… 

Bast stood and hissed, raking her claws across the Queen’s face. She reared back, growled in anger, hands clutching to her face as her accelerated healing repaired the lines of open gashes. Then she surged back, tried to reach into his mind without touching him. 

But Spencer was ready. 

She wanted Earth. The location of Earth. He blocked her, putting up a wall.

Spencer whispered into the sudden shocked silence, “Finding Earth won’t change the parameters of the game. At best, it will lengthen the time it takes to reach the end, and you will still surely lose.”

The First Queen backed from the Furalin, the beginning of fear in her eyes, retreating to her throne in an effort to fool herself she was still in control. The second Queen, the one nearest to him, demanded once more, “Explain this.” 

“Should you come to Earth in strength, every Hive united in the greatest Swarm of all time, how many of you are there? Millions? That is our guess. And you will sweep over Earth like a plague of locusts, like a tidal wave. Will you need to eat two humans, three, four, in that first feeding frenzy? Millions of us dead in a single day? Millions more the next, millions more after that, to stock all of your larders to capacity? And what do you imagine we will be doing in that time? Earth knows the math, just as I do. Earth has the formula for the retro-virus, and the Hoffan plague. If it’s a choice between losing ninety percent of our population now, with the certainty you’ll be back to cull us all over again in future, or half, with the consequence that you’ll all die… the math is simple and unavoidable. And then where are you? The last great feeding ground of the Wraith, as poisoned and fatal to you as those here. And you lose. But so do we. Losing half of us is not a win. So the game is back to lose-lose.

“What exactly did the Asuran tell you?” Spencer asked curiously.

The one closest to him answered, “The Asuran have decided the Wraith should stop eating humans. They have confronted hive after hive… choose. Take the retrovirus and end our need to feed on humans, or be destroyed. Some Queens believe the Asurans have declared war on us, but the Asurans don’t attack. They just leave the message – the Magic Veralin wants it so.”

Another Queen protested, “But then we should ourselves be Abominations! Half-Wraith!” He could feel the fear in her, raw terror at changing… becoming something different. 

Slowly, Spencer nodded. “Just as I am half Furling.”

The very name threw the Queens into terrified confusion, and the first blustered it out. “There are no Furling left! No Veralin!”

Spencer shrugged. “Clearly, there are. I am the Magic Veralin. You know this. The Veralin are children of the Furling, humans, and the old Lanteans. In order to survive, the Furling became something new. Yes, maybe, you could call us half-Furling. But I carry the legacy of the Furling, and in me they live on. In order to survive, the old Lanteans bred with Furalin and humans, and they became hybrids too. In a sense, every child of two parents is a hybrid – a combination of both, to become something new.”

Okay, Spencer thought, this was not getting him anywhere… these creatures were so ingrained in their hunger, their addiction, their prejudices and biases, they would need a considerable kick in the ass to get them thinking survival, not merely existing in their self-destructive and dead-end status quo.

And that’s when he sensed… something wild. Something furious and wild and unstoppable. Coming straight for him.

Bast stirred, looked up at him and made a huff. It’s about time they got here.

Å 

Cam was barely hanging on to sanity by a thread, and not particularly concerned if that thread should snap. The thread had a name… Daniel. His hand on Cam’s shoulder was the only thing that allowed Cam to focus past the alien stench of rot and death inside the Hive. It smelled of leaf litter, insect larvae, pheromones he could not read but itched at his skin and made his eyes water… All along the living walls of the Hive were empty capsules, broken open and shredded netting dragging on the floor, where humans had once been caught in webs. Thank god they were all empty, the storage halls deserted, or Cam wouldn’t have been able to hold on even as well as he was. 

He could hear Teldy’s team behind him… he could smell Teal’c, the slightly metallic tang of naquadah… Holy shit, he could *smell* Teal’c!

But none of that mattered. There was the waft of a smell… the barest hint of Old Spice on alien air… Spencer’s aftershave. He had been taken this way. And sniffing on the same trail, was the wispy shadow of a bird, wings outspread… and he knew that sucker. He saw it in his dreams. It soared above a blue jungle in his dreams, a peregrine falcon zipping through the trees, an aerial dance like a ballerina, just the way he had flown his X-302 over Antarctica, leading the Snake-skinner squadron in dog-fights against the death-gliders of Anubis… 

A Wraith soldier turned a corner right into their path… 

Cam didn’t even think, he jumped forward, took its head and snapped its neck. And then he was charging even faster, almost outstripping Daniel, who was desperately trying to keep pace, to keep a steadying hand on him. 

“Colonel Mitchell!” called the AR-5 sergeant, Dusty Mehra. The woman stooped to pick up a bladed weapon from the dead soldier’s belt, and tossed it to him. He snatched it out of the air, and went on. Slashing this sword, cutting his enemy in two, was a hell of a lot more satisfying, and he knew, without looking back, that the others were scavenging from the bodies in his wake for their own edged weapons. 

The deeper they got into the Hive, the more opposition they met, but Cam was a force of nature, sweeping through like a tornado.

Å 

Hunh, thought Spencer. So Cam Mitchell was a sentinel. And, apparently, he had decided that Spencer was his. The Furalin wasn’t sure he was quite ready to be claimed like that, not yet, but… well. He could hardly wait to tell Blair. 

The Wraith drone lords at the control consoles began to look alarmed, attempting to report to the ship’s Queen that trouble was coming. 

“You believe humans are nothing but food. They never mounted much of a defense against you, before the new Lanteans arrived and raised Atlantis from the depths. But since that day, more and more Hives have fallen to them. Any that attack Atlantis fail to return. And they have interfered in cullings, provided refuge for populations, and you are unable to breach their protections. Still, you do not respect an enemy you eat. You underestimate us, and that is a fatal mistake to make.”

Already, he could hear the shouts and screams and cries, the noise of battle just outside the bridge control room. The drones hustled to leave their stations, drew weapons to attempt to protect their Queens… but with three semi-feral sentinels determined to cut through all opposition, Spencer knew it would be a blood bath. So he stood, and calmly walked through the line of drones. He held up his hands, and met Cam face to face. 

The man was covered in gore, a dripping blade clutched in his hand, and he was panting with excess of adrenaline, shivering with suppressed energy, the mad feral look in his bright blue eyes focussed now on Spencer. 

The Furalin put one hand gently on his heaving chest, ignoring the smear of Wraith gore under his palm, and said, “I’m fine, Cam.” 

Behind him, the others in the rescue party also slowed and took up guard positions, prepared at even a hint to burst back into battle-readiness. 

He turned back to the awed and horrified Queens, and their confused and skittish drones. 

“Do you really want to remain our enemy?

“I tell you that we will fight to the death. Ours, or yours, makes no difference to us, although in that event we would prefer it to be yours. Is this fate really one you would prefer? 

“You fear to change. I understand. Change is difficult and scary. But fear will not protect you. Play the game by the same rules, and we both lose. I have shown you how inevitable this logic is. You think becoming hybrid makes you lesser, half what you are. Not so. Perhaps it will make you greater. Take the retro-virus, turn hybrid, able to eat solid food, and live in truce with humans. Live and let live. Unlike Michael, we offer you the choice. Retreat to your own territories and live in peace with humans and each other. This is what the Furling did, to survive. It’s what the old Lanteans did, to survive. It’s what is available to you, to survive. No other option leads to survival, for either of us.

“I will leave you now. You have a lot to think over. Oh, I would advise you not to interfere in our exit. A sentinel is not in a mood to be merciful or forgiving to those who threaten the Furalin. 

“Should you decide to survive, for us *all* to survive, come to us and we will supply you with the means.”

Å 

On the ground of a nameless planet with an abandoned shack that had once held Dr. Reid captive, Jack and the majority of his rescue teams waited for news. He leaned over the shoulder of Major Evan Lorne, and the controls of the second of three puddle jumpers Sam Carter had sent for the mission, watching the heads up display show the Wraith ships above. None of the darts had made any move on the planet. They were patrolling perimeters, more interested in guarding against the other hives than in what was going on down on the planet beneath. The same with the cruisers. 

“Standard for the Wraith,” Lorne explained. “The Hives are in competition with each other. They’re a lot more worried about each other than they ever are about us.”

“Well that’s annoying,” Jack complained. “I’m a lot more dangerous than a Wraith Queen.”

Lorne grinned. “Yes sir.”

“Any sign of our trouble magnets?”

“Not yet, sir.”

“A whole damn boat-load full of sentinels and trouble magnets… how the hell did I let that get by me? I must be getting old…”

“At least McKay and DiNozzo aren’t along for the ride, sir.”

“No kidding. Mitchell is already going to give me hell for letting Reid go off on his own. And Teal’c is going to give me that raised eyebrow of disappointment… I hate it when he does that.”

Lorne blinked. “I think you’re in the clear this time, sir. You were gone with SG-1 yourself at the time. It’s DiNozzo and Colonel Carter they’ll go after, right?”

“I can only hope.”

“Okay, I’ve got a cloaked ship leaving the middle Hive…”

Moments later, even as the jumper signature swerved and dipped to enter the planet atmosphere and return to them, there was sign of shuttles also leaving the middle hive. And as soon as each shuttle returned to their own hives, the darts also returned to their hangars. 

The first hive sped away, cruisers in tow. The middle hive prepared weapons… two more hives sped away, on vastly different trajectories. A fourth also escaped with all due speed, only barely getting clipped in the rear as it hurtled into hyperspace and out of weapons range. The last fired up its own weapons and prepared to defend against the largest middle hive… 

“Let’s not stick around to see who wins,” Jack recommended. “Lorne, you got Teldy on comm?”

“Yes sir. She says mission accomplished, all present and correct.” 

“Outstanding. Tell her to head straight for the stargate. She’ll lead us home. Get everyone else loaded up and out of here. When that really big sucker wins, she’s going to come for us, I guarantee it. Whatever the hell the Reid kid told them, they aren’t exactly all in agreement.”

Å 

Spencer huddled on the seat in the back of the jumper, Teldy at the helm, everyone else sitting as close to him as they could get, trying to get a hand on him, reassurance through touch that he was there and safe. Luckily, Daniel broke that up, and shooed everyone back… as far back as the close confines of a jumper rear cabin allowed. Of course, he was still inundated in familiars… Bast, Orion and Aten all sitting on bits of him. 

But, still… it just occurred to him that maybe a cat wasn’t the best source for medical advice, for how much damage Pegasus stun-guns could do to a second trimester fetus. Sudden images of birth defects and miscarriages, mental effects playing off even a hint of weakness in his DNA… 

“Whoa!” Cam Mitchell said, kneeling in front of him and staring concerned into his face. “Your heart-rate just spiked, and your temperature dropped, like, ten degrees! Hell… we didn’t even ask if you were hurt, what those bastard Wraith did to you… Spencer? You injured somewhere I can’t see? You going into shock?” Someone passed him a jacket, and he wrapped that around Spencer’s trembling shoulders.

“I…” He felt himself shivering uncontrollably. This was not good. This, too, could adversely affect his precious babies. He needed… he needed… he groped out blindly and grasped Cam’s warm hands like a life-line. Then he swallowed, shut his eyes tight and struggled for control. 

“The first guy, the Genii rogue leader, Pyol Sovar. He hit me with some kind of stunner. Then they took me to that shed… and the wraith-worshipper he took me to meet, he got a second shot at me. I don’t know… what if they did something to the babies? Cam, what if they hurt the babies?”

Porter’s voice was a soothing reassurance to his frayed nerves. “The Genii use scavenged Wraith stunners, and so do the wraith worshippers. This weapon is not known to have any effect on the unborn.”

“There. See? Dimmy and JJ are going to be just fine. But, Spencer… did they hurt you? You don’t look any older…”

“They didn’t touch me. Much as they wanted to… Bast wouldn’t let the senior Queen near me, and the others all deferred to her… they just wanted to talk. Dr. McKay was kinda right about talking to the Asurans having unexpected results. They’re going to all the hives, to tell them I want them to volunteer for the retro-virus. The Queens were looking for…. Clarification. I did my best to give it to them.”

Captain Cadman stared at him. “They didn’t try to drag it out of you?”

“The first Queen did try to make me tell her where Earth is… but I’m Furalin. Some things… don’t work on me. I was trying to hypnotize them, plant a suggestion… I’m not sure how well it worked. They’re pretty far gone, with hunger, desperation, and they’re all addicts. They’re addicted to the rush they get when they feed on a human, as much as the actual energy they need to live. I also tried logic. I tried to explain what it means, that we’re both caught in a game where both sides are doomed to lose… not sure if that worked, either.”

“Hey, you’re alive,” Daniel stated. “That’s a win all on its own.”

“Well… I do my best work in conditions of extreme terror. At least that hasn’t changed…”

Å


	6. Lockdown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian Translations:  
> Kotyonok: kitten  
> Vnuchok: grandson

Å 

Sam and Richard remained on the Command Deck, waiting for updates and news. Sam was a little more used to hovering over consoles during a crisis, so found herself a console to keep her attention. Richard was left to pace. And both were doing their best to ignore the presence of Eli David and his daughter, haunting a corner of their own, and eavesdropping on the radio chatter from the S&R teams. 

But, finally, word came in… 

Her S&R teams dialed in with the welcome news of a mission completely successful.

Eli seemed less than happy about this turn of events. Sam wondered about that. 

As soon as three puddle jumpers returned and disgorged their people, the automatic systems retrieving the ships to return them to the hangar bay, Sam barked out curt orders. All hands to medical for post-mission check-ups, but particularly Dr. Reid, who had been in enemy hands, then team leads to her office to debrief.

“And as soon as you clear medical, SG-1 and AR-5 are on stand-down for the next twenty-four.”

“What?” General O’Neill blurted out. “You don’t mean me too, do you, Carter?”

“Yes sir,” Carter said with a smirk. Leadership of the Atlantis Disaster Area ought to come with some perks… “You just finished one mission, then went immediately out on an S&R… and until the paperwork is done and your after-action reports are in, you’re technically still a member of SG-1, sir. So yes, stand-down for twenty-four. Unless you want to make it forty-eight?”

But, almost as soon as the stargate deck cleared, Chuck announced long-range scanners had picked up a ship on approach to Atlantis, one with the unmistakable signature of the Travelers. Sam grimaced, and turned to Eli.

“Is this one yours?” she asked.

“Can you open a comms channel?”

The Traveler ship sent just one word: “David?”

Eli stepped up to the microphone, and said, “You have permission to approach. I await your arrival.”

With that, the comm cut out, and Eli nodded to everyone, retreating out of the Command Deck with his shadow. 

Sam glanced at Richard. She activated her radio. “General O’Neill? We have company coming. Estimated arrival, one hour. And sir, that gives you time to get checked out by medical *before* you race back up here to get in my way.”

Å 

Spencer was insanely relieved when Carson confirmed his babies had taken no harm from his adventure. He began to wonder how he would find the courage to keep going out on missions in future, knowing how… fraught they might be with dangers for a pregnant person. 

He would be the last to clear medical, as he had been in enemy hands. He expected to be requested to report for mission debriefing immediately following. He had already given the bare bones of his experience to O’Neill, Anne Teldy and Mitchell, while he waited his turn in the infirmary, but still, he thought Colonel Carter would wish a more thorough re-telling. 

So he was a little confused when the Atlantis tannoy came alive to request all personnel report to their duty stations. Which, for Spencer, would be the NCIS office, once he cleared medical. What, no debrief with Carter and Woolsey, first? Well, he supposed he could at least write up and enter his full mission report there… but… was he being got out of the way, maybe?

From the puzzled looks on several other faces, they thought the orders odd, too. 

“My duty station?” Daniel demanded. “Or rather, my off-duty station, since we’re supposed to be on stand down? Which would make it that office I’ve been using in the archeology section? Hunh. I wonder if something’s going on?”

“Wouldn’t be surprised,” Jack commented, sweeping past on his way out of the Infirmary.

“Hey Jack? Stand-down duty station for you is the South Pier with a fishing pole, isn’t it? Unless you’re going up to Command to try and fake out Sam. Cam? Teal’c?”

“They’re with me,” Jack said, scowling at his former team-mate. “And I never fake out Carter. She’s too smart to fall for it. I might poke at her a bit…”

“Yeah, sure.” 

Cameron, who had been hovering around Spencer’s cot, his mouth working as if he were trying to get up the nerve to speak, finally shrugged, and started to trail after his commanding officer. Until Carson stood in his way. 

“Oh no, lad. From what I’ve been told, you had a wee bit of an ‘episode’ on this mission. Your vitals are showing increased heart-rate, blood-pressure, and you’ve got rashes on your arms and legs. We need to get you leveled out, son. That puts you in that bed over there, overnight for observation, at least. Major Teldy, Sgt. Mehra? You lasses aren’t much better off, so you’re here with me too. Dr. Porter? Your choice.”

Alison grinned at her favorite doctor. “Oh, you’re going to need me to keep my team-mates calm, doctor.”

Laura Cadman, giving Carson a sly sideways look, planted herself right next to Alison. “I guess I’m here too. Official stand-down means I can hang with my team.”

“Fair enough.”

Anne Teldy grimaced. “And where does that leave security escort for Dr. Reid?” she demanded of anyone who would listen. 

Spencer grimaced. “Once Carson lets me go, I’ll just be writing reports in my office. How much escort do you think I need there, with Garcia on duty?”

“About as much as you *always* do, Dr. Reid,” Teldy riposted.

Daniel chuckled. “Give it up, Spencer. Once they get it in their heads that we’re accident prone, nothing will convince them we don’t need constant supervision.” The linguist glanced at his last team-mate. “And my usual security escorts are all out of the picture.” Cameron just groaned and thumped back on his cot. “So, you coming with, Vala?”

Vala grinned her thousand-watt smile. “You know it.”

Å 

Minutes later, Jack appeared on the Control Tower Command Deck, with Teal’c at his shoulder. He must have pulled rank and rushed the doctors to clear medical so fast. Sam straightened from her console to regard her former team-lead, merely smirking at his blatant refusal to stay out of the thick of any crisis. She knew him far too well to expect any less.

“We ready to go?” he asked. 

“We are.” She sighed heavily. “God, I hoped it would never come to this…”

“Me too, Carter. Chuck, fire up a connection to Earth, will you?” And as soon as he got the CO of the SGC on the monitor, “AJ? The IOA has forced my hand. Again. And Eli’s little party is on approach. We’re going to Trojan-B.”

“Acknowledged. Trojan-B protocols enacted. We’ll be ready. Hetty says don’t get dead out there. She really likes that tea you send her.”

“I’ll do my best, AJ. It sure doesn’t pay to piss off that lady.” The connection shut down and Jack, bouncing on his toes, grinned at Sam. “So where do you want me?”

Sam lifted an eyebrow. “Did you forget already, Sir? You’re on stand-down.”

“But we’re on Trojan-B!”

“Yes, I know. I’m just about to call it, once we’ve got confirmation everyone is settled in their expected positions.”

“But if I’m off-duty personnel… that puts me in with the geeks! Carter… you’re kidding, right?”

Just how much of a grudge was Carter nursing, after all this time? She cocked a speculative eye on the general, and let him squirm for a moment more.

Å 

Major Teldy was clearly not happy when Spencer left medical on his own. Neither was Cameron, for that matter, but probably for slightly different reasons… At which Spencer sighed. He’d have to deal with the newly-awake sentinel at some point… just not right now. He was just off a somewhat harrowing mission, still had his reports to write, was deliberately refusing to consider what ramifications his actions may have for the future, and all he really wanted to do was sit at his own desk in his own office and contemplate his naval for a little bit. He was prepared to cope with Tony, whose usual amiable prattle could be rather pleasant white noise, but no one else just now. 

Then there was the usual unusual situation on the city… Obviously, *something* was going on, outside his normal purview, if standard operating procedures were being… adjusted to this extent, overriding normal mission debrief, and he supposed he would find out what it was all about in due course.

So he proceeded to the NCIS office. Only to find it empty. For a moment he let himself feel relieved… then worry kicked in. Spencer keyed comms for his boss. “Tony?”

‘Hey, Probie. I’m in the labs with McKay. I heard you got back safe and sound. Not even a splinter?’

“Nope. I’m good. This time. Carson was *very* thorough. You’re in the labs because…”

‘Well, my idea was to talk McKay into making me a really big bomb so I could express the depths of my displeasure to the bastards who grabbed my Probie, but that proved unnecessary, and Evgenia grabbed us both. She wants to teach us some Lamaze moves, or something, and Miko promised me and McKay a back rub. You might want to join us.’

Well, it was good news that there were apparently no lingering hard feelings between McKay and Miko, but… Reid twiddled his fingers a little. “Um… Are you sure that’s a good idea? Dr. McKay seems… really uncomfortable around me. It’s his lab, after all, and I don’t want to presume…”

‘Well, you know what? I could tell there’s some tension between you guys, probably fall-out for you calling him on his bad behavior, and I think it’s time you settled whatever the hell it is. Come on down, Probie. I can make it an order, if you want.’

“Oh, well, then… Bast? Coming with?”

Bast just shot him a look.

Å 

It wasn’t the tannoy that delivered the next blanket order. No, that came over the Atlantis Expedition private comms circuits. But then, that was part of the protocol to enact the new potential crisis drill, dubbed ‘Trojan-B’. It was something O’Neill had dreamed up, as a kind of anti-invasion measure. It required noncombatants to be assigned to protected zones within the city, along with some personnel to attend as ‘escort’. This included locking down the school and day care facilities, the agriculture and outer residence towers, infirmary, temporary refugee billets and market places, and evacuating Expedition civilians, scientists, kids and any locals who happened to be on the city at the time, to various protected fall-back positions. The military were divided into teams and squadrons on patrol and various specialized duties for the duration. They’d had three test drills already called to practice, so very few thought it odd that it should happen again. 

Normally, Sheppard would collect all the military under him, McKay all the science staff (hard *and* soft sciences, much to his resentment and attempts to offload the not-hard and therefore clearly non-essential guys to Daniel), and Teyla all the rest of the civilians, kids and locals. That represented the entirety of the city population. With Sheppard and Teyla out of pocket on their mission, Major Lorne got the military, while Teyla’s ducklings would report to McKay too.

Over the years, the Expedition had done quite a bit of shifting of ordnance and supplies, well under the radar of most. They no longer had just one armory, medical supply cupboard or food storage silo, but dozens of them scattered all over the city. This had been started in the first year of the Expedition, to make sure that if any attack, accident or natural disaster took down one tower, they wouldn’t lose everything. It also hadn’t gone un-noticed that when Kolya’s invasion force had come on their raid, during a crippling storm while almost the whole city had been evacuated, that having all weapons, all C4 and all medical and food supplies in one location made it all the easier to steal. But for Trojan-B, there was a bit of a shell-game going on, too… empty crates marked as full, full crates mis-labeled… all to make it harder on a non-Wraith enemy force within their walls. 

As for any vital, civilian assets… the Trojan-B requirement was, ‘don’t be where they would expect to find you.’

Å 

With a heavy sigh, Dr. Meredith Rodney McKay glanced around at the fully staffed science lab. “Okay, it’s another damn drill. Trojan-B… sounds like something I could probably have used about nine months ago… Okay people. Relocate to…” he checked an entry on his laptop, then announced, “the Aquarium. Take whatever you need with you. Come on! Chop chop! We’ve done this before! You coming with, DiNozzo?”

“Hell yeah. No way I’m missing out on a massage by Miko. And I got dibs on a sofa by the window. I like to watch the fish.”

Daniel wandered in with Vala at his heels. “Jack’s getting a little too enthusiastic with all these drills. Trojan-B, again. Which station we going to this time?”

“The Aquarium. I just got it prepped, set up and fully connected last week. And by all means, join us. The more the merrier,” McKay sighed, putting both his hands on his lower back and stretching. “At least there are comfy chairs down there. I think this SGC-issue desk-chair is ruining my back.”

Daniel frowned. “You’ve got a back ache, McKay? For how long?” 

Spencer also perked up at that. Sometimes one of the first signs of early labor can present as back ache. 

“Weeks! I don’t know if you noticed? But I’m carrying about forty pounds of baby in my stomach, and it’s all throwing me forward. Of course my back hates it!” 

The scientist complained and stretched even as his eyes followed and counted off his staff members, shutting down work stations, packing up and exiting for the nearest transport cabinet. He would make sure all their equipment and experiments were properly shut down in the main lab space, control transferred to their secondary location, last man out to turn out the lights. Then he would silently count them once more when he re-joined them, along with all the other extra personnel he was responsible for this time out, to make sure everyone had arrived safely. This he would report to Carter. 

McKay had actually been required to survey, prepare and outfit five different locations for the Trojan-B fall-back positions. Four of them were specifically just for the science teams, but this time he had many more people to collect, with the Athosians, refugees, kids, civilian staff, etc. Etc... and the only one of the five locations big enough was the so-called Aquarium. It was also his personal favorite, so... bonus. 

The Aquarium was basement space they had found, and it was actually pretty awesome. As West Pier Tower 5 rose thirty stories above the waterline, there was an anchoring reverse tower diving below, the same thirty floors. Each pier seemed to have one tower with such an anchor, evidently as a stabilizing feature for the city. This particular one had escaped much of the damage from time and the city’s extended sojourn on the ocean floor… no flooding or water damage at all, as there had been with most of the other basement towers. And this, floor minus-two, was one of several similar floors, open plan with only the central core, containing staircase, transport cabinet, plumbing for water and sewage connected to bathrooms and kitchen facilities, and occasional structural columns breaking up the clear eye-lines to all the outer walls, that were made of transparent Atlantis glass. It gave a glorious view of the underwater world, the shoals of brightly colored or silver-scaled fish, waving seaweeds hanging mid-ocean, the other below-water structures of the city, and barely visible distant shadows of ocean floor mountains and chasms. The other aquarium floors were a little too deep to allow surface sunshine to illuminate the surrounding water, but here, roughly twenty feet down, shadows and sunbeams vied with flashes of fish scales. 

It was one of Jack O’Neill’s favorite spots, too.

They had no idea what the Lanteans had designed these floors for, but the Expedition used the ‘Aquarium’, West-5-minus-2, as a recreational area, and had moved in all sorts of comfy chairs, futons and sofas to face the underwater panorama, the Pegasus version of a soothing aquarium. Lots of people came here to meditate. McKay had immediately ear-marked it as a great potential Trojan-B non-combatant fall-back position, arranging the necessary connections and equipment for it to serve as secondary lab facilities, although not actively employed as such. In fact, he felt kind of like a spoil-sport teacher, whenever he had to tell his people, ‘no, you cannot work from the Aquarium…’, like his own teachers had denied him the opportunity to take lessons out on the front lawn of the school at the end of the year, when bright, warm and wonderful early summer weather made being inside a penance.

It was also big enough to hold the entire sciences department, plus all the civilians, without crowding, the current number standing at exactly ninety-seven.

McKay was last man out of the regular labs, shooing DiNozzo and Reid ahead of him to the nearest transport cabinet. Of course, Reid immediately caused him problems, insisting he needed to duck back to his office for something he needed, and would very soon join them again. But McKay gritted his teeth and merely nodded to the younger genius. 

With the time it had taken to roust his people, a *lot* like herding cats (and they all had some understanding of what that truly meant now), he wasn’t surprised to find most of the civilians and soft sciences folk there ahead of them. 

Including those annoying Brits who came in the last *Daedalus* run. They came bustling in, boisterous and loud, as usual, in the middle of some stupid argument about whether a temple was a temple or merely a community gathering hall. They had taken to calling themselves the ‘Time Team’, since they were unraveling the evidence of Pegasus history at the various sites around the galaxy. He found that one little guy, the appallingly cheerful security guy, Baldrick, particularly hard to take in large doses. And who knew how long O’Neill would keep them to their drill posts this time around? 

With a sigh, he called out to the ‘fire wardens’ to do head-counts for their assigned sections, to make sure they had everyone accounted for. The wardens were tasked with alerting, collecting and counting off the various groups, as well as grabbing already-packed bins of food, first-aid kits and some weapons, enough for a potential siege of one week.

“Come on, people, this is our fourth go at this. We should all know the drill by now! If you don’t have fire-warden duties, and have work you could be doing, then get set up and proceed. If not, then… do whatever you would normally be doing for relaxation on off-time.”

Edmund Black, sleek and smarmy as a black tom cat, watched Dr. Reid trundle in, pulling a wheeled storage cart, letting his eyes linger on the other man’s butt… and said in a sudden loud silence, “I can’t very well do *that* in front of company, Dr. McKay”, leering blatantly.

Reid blushed bright red, and even McKay had to acknowledge it was just plain adorable. It just wasn’t fair that his current *bête noir* was all that and adorable too!

Most of the room began to laugh, however, those old enough to get the joke at least, and the tensions seemed to rapidly dwindle, so McKay supposed he should be glad of that. 

Å 

The kids had been plastered against the windows, watching the fish, when they suddenly realized Spencer had arrived, and he was instantly mobbed, countless young voices pleading for him to do some tricks. Luckily, Spencer had prepared for this. It’s why he had brought the storage bin he had packed weeks ago.

The first Trojan-B drill had lasted four hours thirty-seven minutes, while everyone got used to the instructions they had been given before hand, and sorted themselves out, slowly reporting in to Command when all were accounted for. Spencer and Tony were nominally under Teyla’s purview, along with the other civilians. That much time was enough to settle everyone in their fall-back positions, with a movie or two for the long and boring wait, but it was also time enough for the kids to get restless and fractious. 

The second Trojan-B drill was twenty-two minutes, barely enough time to get a project out before having to pack up and move back to business as usual. So, although no one had time to get bored, it had been frustrating and annoying for all, and Teyla had unilaterally decided that the kids would stay and watch the rest of the film they had just begun before returning to their regular classes at the small school they had set up on the city.

The third Trojan-B drill was just under one hour forty-one minutes. Spencer wasn’t sure why that one had been delayed, although he had his suspicions. 

With variable length drills, there was no way to effectively plan for activities to distract or entertain the kids, but magic routines worked really well to fill in the time. So did his extensive repertoire of science-for-kids experiments, practiced to perfection with both his godson Henry LaMontagne and Jack Hotchner. One of Spencer’s CalTech profs had young kids she was home schooling, so got her students to plan out lessons and experiments for them – so Spencer had plenty of experience, with his film-canister rockets just one example. So, along with his usual sleight-of-hand with cards, coins, kerchiefs, etc., he had prepared a list of activities to keep the kids amused, and stowed what he’d need in the wheeled storage crate to be ready for more Trojan-B drills. 

He held up his hands to the excited kids, and opened his bin to select the first trick. “Torren? I’m going to need an assistant. You up for that?”

“I am! I am!” the thrilled boy jumped up and down.

It wasn’t long before Spencer had a large audience gathered for the show, full of kids of all ages.

Å 

The Time Team began to rib Edmund Black about losing his bet. What bet? Evgenia, who was a little inclined to be sweet on one of them, McKay wasn’t really sure which one and didn’t really care, if she had the bad taste to be attracted to a bunch of archeologists… anyway, Evgenia asked his question for him.

“What bet is that?”

Dr. Timson chuckled. “Edmund here noted that all three of the other Trojan-B drills happened   
when Eli and Ziva David were off the city, on one of their mysterious missions. We told him he was barmy, and he put money on it. But this time they’re both on the city…”

McKay looked around… As civilians, they would be on Teyla’s list, but… no, he was pretty sure he would have noticed, but… he double checked his laptop, and they weren’t on his list this time either. And neither of them were in the Aquarium. “Is this just an over-sight? Should I check up on where they got to? They might have assumed we’d go to the last drill positions…”

“Oh, I doubt it’s an over-sight,” Edmund declared dryly.

“Probably not,” DiNozzo piped up, where Miko was helping him ease into a low-riding sofa. “After all, there’s restraining orders out on both of them to stay away from me and Tali, and we’re both here. I imagine Carter or Woolsey are looking after them personally.”

“No doubt,” Edmund agreed. And really, that man’s way with a raised eyebrow was… well… pretty masterful, actually, maybe even Teal’c-worthy. 

McKay fired off a text to Sam, asking if he should be checking on the troublesome duo, and thereafter lost all interest in the matter, his duty done, and too busy following up on a dozen other urgent matters on his checklist to bother further. 

But in the back of his mind, he acknowledged that neither of the Davids were cc’d on any of the Trojan-B emails or instructions he had seen – although there were other secondary evac spots listed, in case someone couldn’t reach their primary assembly point for some reason. 

McKay took reports from his wardens, went down his check-list, and was finally satisfied that he had fulfilled all the parameters for his job. He fired off a text to Sam, that, saving only the Davids, all his appointed ducklings were lined up and accounted for. At this point, radio silence kicked in, the Aquarium would disappear even from city sensors, along with all its current occupants. The Transport Cabinet System would shut down, stairwells were open but certain floors were locked out, and critical sections, like the Command Chair and ZPM rooms, the jumper bay, some others, were also sealed. This status would remain in effect until the Atlantis AI was given the special coded command by select authorized people to initiate the all-clear. 

McKay frowned, and made a brief notation that it might be a good idea in future to designate an official second for Teyla’s people, and further divide the sciences personnel… he didn’t much care for the idea of keeping all their vulnerable eggs in one basket, as they now were. If these drills were to be good for anything, it would be to improve their efficiency and effectiveness against potential attacks.

“Okay folks, we’re finally fully locked down at… elapsed time twelve minutes eight seconds. Woo-hoo! Personal best, even with Teyla’s folks as well as my own!”

There were some half-hearted cheers around the Aquarium as McKay stood and pumped his arms in the air in victory. Oh, how he would lord it over Teyla for this. Definite bragging rights here.

Except that, in that very moment, standing abruptly and waving his arms in the air, he felt an unnerving dampness… not so much a dampness as a gush…

“Oh my God! My water just broke!”

Å 

There was an initial rush to get to McKay, but Evgenia took command, by virtue of her status as Grandmother, more than as McKay’s second with Radek off on a mission with AR-1. She announced in no uncertain terms, “Please for everyone to be calm! There is no need for panic, and it will not help. Rodney, *Vnuchok*, calm yourself. Labor does not happen in an instant. We have hours to go yet, and the drill will be well over in that time. We will have you in the Infirmary and under Carson’s care long before Meredith Joy is ready to make her appearance. And if for some reason that is not the case, we will simply have you over-ride the drill and transfer you straight to medical.”

Spencer piped up from the sidelines, “Stage one labor usually takes between twelve to nineteen hours.”

Evgenia nodded and continued, “Selena of the Athosians is here, and she has much experience as a midwife. I myself have given birth to three healthy children, and assisted with five grandchildren. Then there is Daniel and Spencer, and both of them are also experienced in such matters. I hear that Daniel has actually delivered more babies than Carson! Is it not so, *Kotyonok*?”

“Six and counting, Rodney. You’re going to be fine.”

McKay stared at the archeologist for a moment. “Six? How did you… you know what? I don’t want to know.”

Daniel chuckled. “Well, one was on a dig before I even joined the SGC, the others were pretty much mission-related.”

“Only one for me,” Spencer confessed, “and it was on a case.”

Evgenia recommended, “Breathe, *Vnuchok*. And again… there.”

McKay muttered, “Six, two, eleven, thirteen, nine…”

“Better,” Evgenia grinned down at him as he settled on a stool. “Now, shall we get you into the bathroom to get cleaned up? Selena needs to check a few things, and we need to get you into something a little less restrictive, for the time being.”

McKay wrinkled his nose. “You mean a hospital gown-type thing?”

“You have a labor kit packed and with you, do you not? I know Carson told you to have a bag ready and what to pack in it, and to keep it by you at all times.”

“Umm…”

“Rodney!” barked out several voices.

Spencer sighed. “That’s okay, Evgenia. I came prepared for emergencies.” He rummaged in his bin, under the magic props and the experiment supplies, and found the package he had prepared for these last critical weeks for his Boss and the CSO. It was quite evident to Spencer that neither of his fellow zeds were aware enough of the hazards to plan for such eventualities themselves. He took the bag marked ‘McKay’ and handed it to the resident Grandmother. 

McKay blinked at the package in astonishment. “You packed a bag? For me?”

“My BAU team-mates weren’t the best at anticipating these kinds of emergencies, either, so I felt obliged to do it for them. Now, it’s pretty much standard protocol.” 

“Ah, Dr. Spencer Reid, genius indeed,” Evgenia approved. “Come, Rodney. Let’s get you settled.”

Which was when Dr. Miko Kusanagi, in a loud and assertive voice quite unlike her usual shy whispers, announced, “Selena? Dr. Andreeva? I believe we have another emergency. Dr. Reid, do you also have a package for Agent DiNozzo in that bin?”

Å 

Ziva took extra care to retain her ‘game face’, as Tony had termed it, letting none of her disquiet show outwardly. On the outside, she was the perfect Mossad soldier at her superior’s back, watchful and alert, ready at an instant to spring into action. But inwardly, she acknowledged a growing disquiet. Her father was up to something, and he had not told her. Perhaps it was so she could not inadvertently give him away, but… she thought it far more likely it was because he thought she might just disapprove or argue. Not oppose directly, never that, but… what the bloody hell was he up to?

Carter, Woolsey, O’Neill and the alien Jaffa stood behind the operations tech with the Canadian flag patch, watching as the Traveler ship landed on the East Pier. Major Lorne’s team, AR-2, was there to meet the visitors. It seemed a pitifully small welcoming party if the Expedition leaders were seriously concerned with betrayal, and she suddenly wondered where the rest of the military on base were right now. 

Here in the Control Tower operations Command and stargate decks, there were only the usual SF guards. One, sergeant Stewart Alderson, a bulky black ex-linebacker from the looks of him, the circle brand on his wrist almost invisible against the dark skin, was one of the disgruntled military Eli had been courting with flattering attention, praise, reassurances and vague promises. Glancing into corners, she noted two more who had attracted Eli’s notice in recent weeks, both airmen in maintenance, also lurking near. Wayne Cartwright was a red-headed freckled corn-fed Iowa farm-boy, and Jose Esteban a dark-complexioned Latino from LA, both also bearing circle brands. 

And all three of them, armed, were at the backs of the distracted Atlantis leadership. 

The Jaffa suddenly straightened and turned, frowning in suspicion at the people maneuvering into position behind him…

Eli abruptly pulled a Wraith stunner from hiding and shot the Jaffa point-blank. This was ample signal for Alderson, Cartwright and Esteban to also open fire. In an instant, everyone else on the Command Deck were falling to the floor, and Alderson and Esteban were moving to take out the three more SFs on guard on the stargate deck. 

Ziva stood frozen, appalled, but her face set in a stony mask. 

Eli strode forward to push the ops tech out of his seat, and beckoned Cartwright forward. With a few keystrokes, the young airman announced, “Atlantis. Initiate Lockdown.”

The monitor on the East Pier showed a considerable armed force of Genii rogues overwhelming AR-2, sending those five men to the ground. Picking up the – hopefully – unconscious men, the force stormed to the nearest access point. There were twenty in that first wave, but more and more pored off the ship gantry as Ziva watched. 

Eli said, “Cartwright, have you entered the list of approved personnel to be allowed access?”

“Yes sir. Just me, Alderson and Esteban. All other ATAs are locked out… except for the first rank, those with the strongest natural genes, Sheppard, O’Neill, Dr. Beckett, and the effem cops. Not much we can do to lock them out.”

“Yes, well, Sheppard is on the other side of a locked gate, O’Neill is here, and we’ll soon have the others under control as well. Good. Alderson, the transport system will now only answer to a gene carrier on our list. That means you need to go down to the East Pier transport cabinet to collect our guests. Access to the Command Deck will be granted.”

Å 

The transport cabinet system shutting off had made no sound. The locks on the stairwell access doors gave clicks that could not be heard over the low level conversations going on all over the Aquarium, with the occasional delighted shrieks of the kids huddled around Spencer. But now, an hour later, in other sections of the city, the hiss of force-field barriers coming up didn’t make much noise, and were largely invisible, until the military teams on patrol slammed into one of them. 

But the echoing and resounding clangs of the below water-line bulkheads engaging certainly caught everyone’s attention. With those in place, each floor was water – and air – tight. But the blue bubbles of the oxygenation pillars burbled into full activation, to ensure adequate life-support. 

Cold comfort. McKay, struggling to sit up, and grabbing his laptop, soon discovered that full lockdown had been initiated all over the city, not just the limited and localized lock-down of Trojan-B protocols. “What the hell… Cartwright? Who the hell is Cartwright? He’s not one of the command or ops tech staff, is he?”

“He’s an airman in the maintenance department,” Spencer offered at once. “A circle who took the ATA gene therapy. It was successful. But… the cats are avoiding him.” 

“Well, what the hell is he doing putting the city on lockdown?”

Spencer found Tony’s eyes… Tony immediately called to the city, “Garcia! Take over Aquarium functions, now! Trojan-B protocols have precedence over all others!”

“You got it, Boss-man,” replied the cheerful voice over the Atlantis PA system.

McKay blinked. “What the hell?”

Evgenia patted him reassuringly. “We are under siege, *Vnuchok*. This is what Trojan-B was designed for, to keep us safe from an invading group, or traitors within attempting a coup. And if the Atlantis AI is under the control of those who cannot be trusted… Garcia is a subset of the AI, partitioned off to be independent of her.”

“The NCIS office sometimes needs to be completely independent of all other personnel and protocols,” Spencer explained. “Investigations which cannot have external interference or oversight. Garcia was designed to take over AI functions at need. But she isn’t large enough to over-ride the entire city, just select areas and functions. In this case, transferred from the NCIS office to the Aquarium. Whoever has taken over the city, and the AI, to put us into full Lockdown, has no jurisdiction or ability to touch us here. I doubt they will even be able to tell that Garcia, or we, exist.”

Tony Baldrick suddenly piped up, “Who watches the watchers? Because that’s a lot of independent power for even a small subset.” It was a surprisingly insightful comment from someone who played the fool so well. 

Tony DiNozzo grinned, winking at his fellow clown-Tony, neither of their acts more than skin deep. “There are three people with over-ride ability, if, and only if, Garcia determines our own protocols are going to be violated, or both Spencer and I are down, or if she detects external interference from another source. AJ Chegwidden, O’Neill, and Carter get notifications of the issue, and then… it gets complicated. There’s a manual on how and when Garcia will let down her guard. But for any situation, all three have to be in agreement to give the over-ride order.” 

Baldrick nodded. “And one of them is presently in another galaxy.”

Edmund Black lingered over McKay’s shoulder as he attempted to access the Atlantis systems, and got shut out of one after the other.

“It’s nice that we’re safe from being over-run by marauders, of course, but I can’t help but feel a little like a rat in a trap here. I don’t suppose there’s an exit on this floor we can use? An air-lock hatch or something?”

“Of course there is,” Rodney scoffed. “Right over there. We’d have to swim to the surface, of course, but… It’s on lock-down, too.”

“Of course it is.”

Spencer hushed the kids and shooed them away, taking his own laptop from his messenger bag, and accessed his own connection to Garcia. “One thing we can do, though, is to monitor the city surveillance system.”

“Without them knowing?” McKay warned darkly.

Spencer blinked up at him. “Of course. Garcia is patterned after the best hacker there is. The Black Queen herself, Meow-Meow.”

That name was known to more than a few of the sciences staff, including McKay. He allowed himself to be at least a little mollified, even if it was by Reid. But then he grimaced, as the first set of labor cramps hit him, hard. 

Å


	7. Extreme Aggressor

Å 

Ziva stood silent in the background as the invasion of Atlantis rushed on apace. She couldn’t help but notice that her father didn’t have it all his own way, for once.

The first hitch was when Airman Cartwright reported that there was a limited lockdown of some sort already in place, making the transport cabinets inaccessible, even to their three ATA gene carriers. So anyone wishing to reach the Command Deck had to tramp up the seventy-odd floors to get there. Which accounted for the fact that their Genii ‘allies’ were already a bit testy when they arrived. But even so, the Command Deck was soon swarming with Genii, Pyol Sovar in command, Myla Wirrin at his right side, an unnamed grey-haired and scarred veteran soldier at his left, and an elite security guard of twenty scattering to covering positions. 

Eli and Sovar leaned over Cartwright’s shoulder, both men intimidating in their impatience. 

“Where is everyone?” Eli demanded. “I need to know where everyone on our Primary List is. They’re our biggest threats, the people we need to lock down immediately.” 

“AR-1 are on mission, still at least a day away from contact,” Cartwright reported with a nervous swallow. His usual post was maintenance, trained only minimally to be back-up on the ops consoles after his ATA gene therapy had proved successful. Of their three zed conspirators, only Cartwright’s mouse gene was strong enough for this. Alderson and Esteban could operate the transport cabinets (when available) and LSDs, open doors, pilot the jumpers, not much more. 

“So Sheppard, Teyla, Ronon and Dr. Zelenka are accounted for. Carter, Woolsey, O’Neill and the jaffa are over there under restraint. Major Lorne and AR-2 were taken when meeting the Traveler ship on the East Pier. Dr. Beckett, Col. Mitchell and AR-5 are all in the Infirmary, and it’s locked down. All other reconnaissance teams appear to be patrolling critical areas, jumper bay, armory, food stores, infirmary, gun emplacements… all captured in pockets by our lockdown.” 

“What about McKay?” Sovar demanded, somewhat alarmed. “Just because he is a scholar, do not underestimate that man! It is well known his brain is far more dangerous than any Wraith or Asuran weapon in this galaxy! And he is one of the strongest Veralin. We need him.” 

Eli nodded agreement, adding, “And DiNozzo? Reid? The rest of SG-1? Where are they?” 

The biggest threats to them now were the ATA gene carriers, O’Neill, Sheppard, Beckett, Lorne, Stackhouse and Markham, any of whom could potentially over-ride their hold on the city, or pilot the puddle jumpers in some sort of escape. And, unwillingly, Ziva had to admit that the high-profile zeds were just as great a menace: Tony, Reid, McKay. She, and her father, had been stung too many times, underestimating that… clown, DiNozzo. It wouldn’t do to repeat that mistake in this circumstance. 

Cartwright was beginning to sweat as he accessed system after system, throwing surveillance footage up on the ops monitors. “I… I… they don’t appear to be in the system.”

“What do you mean, they aren’t in the system?” Sovar demanded. “Find them! Now!”

“I… I can’t! There are personnel I can’t track, the civilians, almost a hundred Expedition personnel and city residents… and a lot of areas I can’t get into – my ATA isn’t strong enough, and there’s a prior lock-down of some kind on the Command Chair, ZPM room, transport system, a few other locations… Trojan-B, it says here. It takes command codes I don’t have access to in order to open them up. It keeps asking me for authorization, which I don’t have. You’re going to have to break out the LSDs to find the rest of the Expedition, and sweep floor by floor, tower by tower.”

“LSDs?” Sovar demanded. 

Eli explained, “Life Signs Detectors. They also require the gene to operate. Alderson’s or Esteban’s. They’ll have to accompany your men anyway, to open doors and get through force fields to stun and secure the military trapped in our lockdown. I suggest we neutralize the military teams as our first priority.”

“And leave McKay, the Magic Veralin and your scientists loose to do whatever damage they feel appropriate? You think that is a good plan?” Sovar raged. 

Ziva could tell he was feeling his control slipping... she was a little… *concerned* about that herself. Her father had committed them all to a course of action that could yield the City of the Ancients to their total control… heady stuff, that… but could also spell utter disaster, if they should fail. And not having McKay, at least, under their thumb, smacked of failure.

Eli rounded on him coldly. “They’ve obviously gone to ground, hiding. They must have been warned, somehow… or were simply too suspicious of this meeting getting out of hand. No matter. This was a spur-of-the-moment desperation move on their part. How prepared can they be? Let them cower and think themselves safe, for the time being. We will hunt them down as soon as the military are out of our way. In the meantime, we have Beckett within reach. His gene is ranked third strongest of all those known. That should be more than enough for our purposes.”

Eyes glittering with ire, mouth thinned to almost invisible, Sovar straightened up and gave a curt nod. “Then we proceed with the plan.” 

Eli nodded. “Alderson, Esteban, each of you chose squads to help you secure our hostages.” He gestured to the heap of unconscious bodies piled to the side, the Expedition leadership along with O’Neill’s trained alien thug. “Alderson? You take them first. Do not let O’Neill fool you, he’s a dangerous man, make sure he is well secured, and the jaffa is much stronger than a human, make certain he is locked down as well. Esteban, you start with the Infirmary. We’ll need Beckett up here in Control, but all the rest, take them to the jumpers. We’ll prioritize and let you know which pockets to pacify next. Once you have filled the jumpers, you can fly them out, drop them on the Mainland somewhere, and return. Cartwright, you remain here in ops to man operations under my direction.”

Eli straightened and turned to the rogue Genii. “General Sovar, welcome to Atlantis. The city is now ours.”

Å 

Although they hadn’t managed to find a single civilian outside the Infirmary staff, they soon stunned, captured and secured more and more pockets of Expedition military, most of them taken to the Mainland, to be dropped in isolated sections of wilderness. 

Groves, Lorenzo and Snider of AR-19 had been quick to accept Eli’s leadership, although their appalled and furious team lead, Major Miller, another jumper pilot with ATA, albeit not a strong one, had kicked enough fuss that they had stunned him, and he too was stranded on the mainland. 

Ziva knew from the tension on the Command Deck that everyone was rattled that Tony, Dr. Reid, and most importantly, Dr. McKay, remained among the missing. It didn’t seem to her like good planning to let those particular people roam free and at large. She knew too well Tony’s remarkable ability to squirm out of any trap. Ever the Wild Card, there was no telling what he might get up to if not brought in. Even in his advanced pregnancy, he was a little too dangerous not to keep under their thumb. As for McKay, she had read all of the Atlantis reports, and most of them were full of his brilliance and ingenuity in surmounting any obstacle, quelling any resistance, overcoming any threat to the city he considered his own, with some justification. 

General Sovar had assembled an impressive force under his command, at least two hundred at Ziva’s count, who had disembarked the Traveler ship and made their way to the stairwells to deploy to critical areas. The only problem was, with the lockdown in effect, they were as trapped as the Atlantis crew, dependent upon their two ATA men to lead them through any barriers. Ten followed Alderson, ten more followed Esteban, another twenty were here in the Command Deck and stargate staging area, on security and patrol. The rest had all been sent to the Mess Hall to await the end of lockdown, and further orders. 

So far no one had been killed, or even injured, but that could change in the blink of an eye. The first hint of serious opposition, and the rogue Genii would certainly be only too eager to shoot to kill. The only thing that had influenced Sovar into agreeing to stunners only, was the knowledge that there were more than a few Veralin among the Lanteans, their status hidden, for the moment. Deliberately, or even accidentally injuring a Veralin… there was almost a superstitious resistance to this, even among the Genii, rogue or not. High Crime, it was whispered. 

Bad enough that they had Dr. Carson Beckett handcuffed to the ops deck balcony railings. The Genii troops all avoided even looking at him, not venturing too close. He was not even remotely inclined to cooperate with the invaders, so had been brought in stunned, and the Wraith weapons had a seriously long effect, hours on some susceptible people. So it proved with Beckett. But she had been assured that he would eventually come out of it with no harm done. Wraith stunners were designed to make their human prey more malleable and helpless, easier to feed upon. Damaging their life force, or ability to feel high emotions, were not to the benefit of the life-sucking predators. So Beckett sat in an awkward-looking position, propped against the balcony rails, wrists above his head, knees bent up under his chin, and the Infirmary grey tabby cat curled at his side, watching everyone with bored green-gold eyes.

While Eli made himself at home in Carter’s office, and Sovar took over Woolsey’s, both glassed-in offices just off the Command Deck, Ziva ventured to approach airman Cartwright, still in command of the ops main control console, that only responded to an ATA gene carrier.

“So, airman Cartwright,” she ventured, wishing to gather what intelligence she could in this unsettled and perilous situation, since her father seemed determined to offer her none, “Some might consider your actions in support of my father… an act of treason.”

The red-headed farm boy merely glared at her. “I ain’t betraying nothing. The IOA don’t have a clue what’s really going on here, what they’ve done to us! They turned me into a fucking freak! They made me into a goddamned fuck’em! Who betrayed who, hunh?”

Ziva held her shock. “What do you mean?”

“The ATA gene therapy, supposed to make us supermen, like Sheppard and the General? Yeah, well, if you’re a circle, like me,” and he showed his wrist circle tattoo, “what it really does is change you into a lousy fuck’em! I’m a fucking freak now! How am I supposed to go home now? What do I tell my girl, my folks, my pastor? I’m an abomination in the sight of the Lord! My parents abandoned two kids on a hospital doorstep, Sanctuary Laws, because they were zeds! You think they’ll let me come home, like this? Hell no! Esteban, when they told him what was happening, he was on suicide watch for a month! In his neighborhood in LA, the locals gang rape any zeds they find, then shoot them in the head! And Alderson? You think he’s any happier than we are? Hell if he is. He says his basic training unit beat a guy almost to death when they found out he was zed, passing as normal. Guy ended in a wheel chair for life. So you tell me, Miss, who betrayed who, hunh? Mr. David is going to get us special dispensations from the IOA, let us come home as plain circles, same as we came in. The IOA wants deals with the Genii, the Travelers, something Carter, Woolsey, Sheppard, even O’Neill will never go for. So he’s the one following orders, not the rest of ‘em fuckem lovers, and I’m obeying him. That’s not treason, no way.”

Ziva wasn’t so sure anyone else would agree. But she was trembling with the revelation… how had she missed it? That the difference between a Z-positive and a zed was the ATA gene? Give a Z-positive single gender the ATA mouse gene, and of course… hey presto, you get a zed. Well… so that was the big Mother of All Secrets the Atlantis Expedition leadership had been keeping all this time. Of course they were. She could only begin to imagine the political and social chaos if this got out… So all of those who had taken Beckett’s gene therapy and were already Z-positive… 

Ah. Her father had kept this secret, not bothering to inform the IOA, because he didn’t want anyone to know he realized who the ATA zeds on the city were. He needed them to be available, ready to his hand for this big coup. And maybe he had other plans for them? Of course he did. When did he not have plans within plans for all contingencies, a half dozen steps ahead of everyone else?

Still, Cartwright’s vitriol on the subject of his unwilling conversion… tending to be of the anti-zed persuasion herself… she wasn’t quite sure where she stood on all of this. 

Her long-standing prejudice – and she freely admitted that was just what it was – had its roots in her childhood. She had always deeply loved her mother, and idolized her father, who could do no wrong in her eyes… until she found him in a compromising position… with Orli Elbaz. That… that… home wrecking zed! And it hadn’t been much later when Eli introduced she and Talia to their half-brother, Ari… son of another of his mistresses, another adulterous zed! Her father could not be accused of such weakness… but the zeds, it had to be their fault, ensnaring an innocent, honest family man with their sexual wiles! Maybe even using their empathic powers to overwhelm and manipulate a loyal husband and father… Yes, that had to be it… 

Of all the delusions of childhood, that had been the hardest one for her to shake. If she ever had.

But… maybe it was time to take another look at that?

Å 

Three hours after the initial takeover of the Control Tower bridge, all seemed calm. Everything Cartwright could pull up on the Atlantis life signs monitors told them they were in control of all parts of the city. The fact that they were still missing a significant portion of the staff, namely, the civilians, just shy of a hundred people, had to be considered acceptable, for now. The next stage of the operation would have hunt teams following Alderson and Esteban with LSDs, seeking out the fugitives. And, after all, they tried to tell themselves, when they now controlled all critical areas, what could a lot of unarmed non-combatants do? So the coup conspirators began to relax, and establish perimeters. The lockdown they would leave in place, for now. It was only prudent, with so many still missing, in spite of the frustration of needing one of their three ATA carriers to open doors, get through force fields, or read the LSDs. 

Their Traveler collaborators, Captain Kysol, a tall, gaunt, grey-haired woman, and her First Mate, a short stocky man named Gastof, were finally invited up to the Command Deck, to look around them with understandable awe.

“So. This is Atlantis,” Kysol observed. Ziva did not think the woman was actually that obvious. Nothing about her was obvious, from the dull-colored homespun clothes she wore, to the blank expression she sported. Certainly not her true feelings or loyalties when in the company of these people she had undertaken to bring here. She seemed to home in on the slumped form of the still-sleeping Dr. Beckett, and his cat, almost at once.

“Captain Kysol,” Eli smiled genially, having come out of his lair to greet her. “Welcome to our city. I think you’ll find it far superior in comfort to even your excellent ship. And as you can see, there’s room for thousands, even millions, as well as repair facilities and supplies for your fleets. Even as I promised.”

“Yes. As promised,” Kysol agreed in a neutral tone. “You also promised the Magic Veralin would be present… but I do not see him. This one… Veralin too? But stunned, and chained?” Kysol did not seem pleased by that fact. “So where is he, the Magic Veralin?”

“He is on the city, I promise you. We were busy capturing the military forces and ensuring they could not impede our plans, as our first priority,” Eli replied smoothly. “That we have now accomplished. We are now progressing with the next stage of our plans, and will soon have all of the Expedition Veralin here in our custody.”

“And Sheppard? McKay? Veralin Agent Tony? These also are not yet in your custody?”

“They soon will be, have no doubt of that. We hold the jumper bays, the gate room… there’s nowhere they can run, after all.”

“Hmm.”

Even Eli narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but he was soon distracted. 

Cartwright called, “The last section is cleared, Mr. David. That just leaves the stockade. You wanted to attend to that yourself.”

“Yes, yes I did. Thank you, Wayne. Ziva? And… Alderson. I will need you as well, to pass all of the barriers, and access the stockade locks.”

“Yes sir,” Alderson stood straight at attention, though he did not salute a civilian.

“So,” she heard Kysol comment behind her as she followed her father off the Command Deck, “you have three Veralin to serve you… but where are their familiars?”

Å 

“O’Neill. O’Neill!”

Jack groaned, his head spinning with a monster headache. And then he abruptly remembered… “For crying out loud! The bastards shot us in the back!”

“Indeed they did. We have been stranded on the mainland. Their jumper pilot was inclined to gloat as he left us here, still bound with zip ties.”

“Which you promptly snapped.”

“Of course.”

O’Neill looked around him. Woolsey was still out, Carter too, cradled in Teal’c’s lap as he tenderly stroked her hair. There were four others splayed around them, Chuck the Canuck from the ops console, and the last three were gate deck SFs, he was pretty sure… and a lot of primeval first-growth forest all around them. 

“You sure we’re still on the same planet as Atlantis?”

“We did not pass the chaapa’ai.” 

“Well that’s something, I guess. And we’re alive… that’s always a bonus. Funny… that didn’t feel like a zat.”

“It was not. They used Wraith stunners. They have a longer effect. You have been unconscious for several hours.”

“Well damn.”

“Indeed. There is more, O’Neill. The Genii leader who disembarked the Traveler vessel was Pyol Sovar.”

“*What*!? The same bastard who just kidnapped the Reid kid and sold him to the Wraith?”

“The very same.”

“Well shit on a cracker! I am going to *fry* the IOA for this! Not to mention that son-of-a-bitch Eli David! And his little dog too!”

“Is there a plan, O’Neill?” Teal’c inquired mildly, well aware of their dire situation.

“Of course there’s a plan. There’s always a plan. Get back to Atlantis, take back the city, make the bastards rue the day they tried to take it.”

“An admirable plan. And how do we accomplish this?”

“Ah… you just put your finger in the main flaw, big guy…”

Å 

Ziva trailed obediently along behind Alderson and her father as they made their way to the Stockade. She wasn’t sure why they had kept the Lucian Alliance prisoners on Atlantis, rather than shoving them through the stargate back to Earth, but no doubt their suspicions about traitor moles within the IOA had something to do with it. O’Neill had perhaps felt it was safer to keep his enemies closer. 

There were seven prison cells with force field barriers sealing in their prisoners. Timur Shelyapin, Larry Stiller (the ex-host of the Goa’uld Kherty, now freed, but still not trusted since he had been rogue NID before he had become a host), the jaffa with a black tattoo she had been told signified the dead false god Sokar, and four human Lucian Alliance pirates who had piloted death gliders that had attacked the *Daedalus*. 

How predictable the criminal classes could be, Ziva thought. There really was no honor among thieves, as Gibbs had thoroughly taught her. All seven were nominally members of the Lucian Alliance, but that did not mean they acknowledged any loyalty to each other. And so Shelyapin (or whatever his name really was) as a high echelon officer in the Lucian Alliance, obviously did not deign to consort with the lesser pirates around him. Stiller didn’t trust anyone for a second. The jaffa might have bowed to Kherty, but not to the host, lowly human Tauri that he was now. As for the last four, pilots they may have been, but they all were minions to the jaffa, and only took their orders from him.

Eli stood before them, head tilted to one side, no doubt contemplating how to get them all on his side. In their effort to hold Atlantis, to adequately patrol, staff and hold it, not to mention hunt down the last elusive fugitives, they would need all the help they could get. 

In the long term, they would need the Traveler crew to run, maintain and repair the advanced tech on the city. They’d certainly need that expertise to operate the star-drive, and Ziva was certain that was Eli’s end game here. They would need General Sovar’s Genii troops as muscle, all two hundred of them. Off-loading most of the Atlantis personnel to the Mainland was a good move, but when they were missing so many civilians… particularly Tony, Reid and McKay… it made Ziva’s skin itch. They needed all the ATA-positive people they could get as well, and at present they had exactly three in their company with strong enough genes to fly the jumpers. Ziva was not fool enough to think Dr. Beckett, when he awoke, would be willing to join them.

But, most of all, if they ever wanted to get Atlantis into orbit, much less back to the Milky Way, they absolutely needed at least one person they could trust with a strong enough gene to run the Command Chair… Not O’Neill or Sheppard, those men were far too dangerous to let loose on the city, even for a moment. The same went for the military ATAs. Dr. Beckett, according to reports, although his ATA on paper was of the first rank, he was useless at that level. So that left the strongest civilian zeds; Tony, Reid, McKay, Dr. Kusanagi, Dr. Zelenka (off with Sheppard on a mission, so unavailable).

Well, Ziva hoped they could capture Kusanagi, because she personally had trouble believing Tony, Reid or McKay would cooperate. Even with threats to their loved ones.

And then Ziva realized, with a shudder, just who Tony’s most available loved one was. Three year old Talia DiNozzo, the granddaughter Eli already seemed to cherish beyond reason. 

Needing all the assistance they could get, ATA or not, it shouldn’t surprise her that Eli was willing to come to these pirates. 

“Timur, my friend,” Eli began. 

In exactly the same half-mocking tone, Shelyapin retorted, “Eli, my friend.”

“I really ought to be upset with you, you know. You killed Isaak and Leah. I needed them.” 

“You would not have needed anyone if Isaak had not threatened my plans. I would not be here at all if he had not interfered with me. Was that on your order, Eli?”

“Certainly not. How could I know? No one told me you had planned to have the *Daedalus* way-laid.”

Ziva had suspected… but to have confirmation that her father had been so deep in Lucian Alliance pockets… she stiffened against the shiver that brought.

“Yes, well… trust is a difficult commodity to come by,” Shelyapin growled.

“How true. But maybe trust is not required if enlightened self-interest is in play.”

“How so?”

“I have Atlantis. She is mine. For now, at least. She’s on lockdown, and we have removed most of the military to the mainland. I have made allies of the Genii, a faction of them at least, and the Travelers. But I could use your assistance, to help keep my allies… honest. You know as much about Ancient systems as the Traveler engineers. As for you gentlemen,” and he turned to the other prisoners, “I could use help ensuring that the superior numbers of the Genii in this enterprise do not turn on us. Well? If I release you, will you assist me?”

The jaffa considered him long and hard. “What have you done with the Shol’va?”

“Teal’c? He’s on the Mainland with his master, O’Neill.”

The jaffa considered a moment more. “I have heard it said this city flies. Do you intend to return to the Milky Way Galaxy?”

“I do. It is my intention to take Earth. With your assistance, this is altogether possible.”

The jaffa bowed his head. “Then I agree to serve you, Lord David. I am Bas’er of Netu. It was the Shol’va, Teal’c of Chulak, who destroyed Netu in years past. Leave him here as we fly away, stranded on a deserted world without a chaapa’ai, and I will consider it adequate recompense. These my men will join us. They are competent pilots, have some engineering experience, with Goa’uld technology, and some Gate-Builder. They have not yet earned names in either battle or service, and shall be known as one, two, three and four.”

Eli smiled a cat-licking-cream smile. “Alderson, release Bas’er and his men. Well, Timur? Stiller?”

Timur nodded. “I will join you. For now.”

“For now, then. Stiller?”

The human remained sitting on his cot, shaking his head. “You know who you’re up against, right? O’Neill, Carter, Teal’c and Jackson? They’re SG-1. You honestly think you have a shot in hell of getting out of this alive, let alone taking Atlantis? Hell no, I think I’ll just stick around here. Or if you decide not to bother feeding me, just ship me to the Mainland on the next trip you make with the other castaways.”

Eli shrugged. “Very well. It is your choice.”

Å 

When Sheppard neared their latest Asuran destination coordinates, the jumper scanners detected a presence already there. This was one orbital ship-works that had already been found, by the Traveler fleet, from the looks of it. Three of their ships, one just this side of derelict, were birthed on one of the Ancient platforms, no doubt making much-needed repairs. 

He had ordered cloak engaged, then considered the situation.

Radek had examined the details on his own monitors and suggested, “This facility is not as big as the one we have already found and claimed. Perhaps we can let the Travelers have this one? Is not good to be too greedy, after all.”

Sheppard had glanced at Teyla and Ronon, who both shrugged and nodded, and agreed. “Yeah, okay. I doubt even McKay would begrudge them this.”

So, they had returned to the nearest gate a day ahead of schedule. 

Just as well, John thought. Rodney was way too close to his due date for John to be comfortable being this far away from his mate. 

They’d been having something of a rocky time of it. McKay’s uncertain temper and insecurities had been at full bore, hormones rampaging through him turning him into an unexploded bomb, his ability to restrain himself even a little was non-existent, and John had been, he freely confessed, afraid to poke the bear. So when the Reid kid had finally called McKay on his out-of-control behavior, John had been secretly relieved. He had made the necessary token protests… but he was sure DiNozzo, at least, recognized that’s all it was. A token, so he could tell his lover, “See? Back-up.” 

But with every session Rodney spent with Dr. Hartley, his blood pressure lowered, and he seemed… calmer. Maybe not happier, but… more content, somehow.

Now, on approach to the orbital space gate that was their closest access point on this trip, he sighed in relief. He was minutes from checking on his difficult love and their mutual parenting project. 

Teyla smiled, a reassuring and understanding hand on John’s shoulder. “I think this should be our last mission for a while, John. Don’t you? I do not like to be so far from Tony when he’s this close to giving birth. I am certain you feel the same.”

John nodded with a sigh. “Yeah. Even this one was cutting it a little too close. You okay with that, Ronon, Radek?”

Radek shrugged with a grin, patting the tuxedo cat on his lap. “I always have something I can be doing when not risking my life in deep space.”

Ronon chuckled, slapping the Czech scientist’s back. “Hey, it’s fine by me.”

They neared the gate, and John punched in the glyphs for home.

The space gate splashed open, and John opened communications. “Atlantis, this is Sheppard, AR-1 in Jumper One. Mission is a bust, we’re coming home. Open the shield.”

They waited… and then waited again. The indicator on the jumper console told them the gate shield was still firmly in place. They waited some more. 

“Atlantis? What’s up, guys? This is Sheppard on Jumper One. You going to lower the shield or not?”

“Please hold, Jumper One. We are experiencing technical difficulties.”

But even as they received this message from a voice none of them recognized, certainly not Chuck, Amelia, Sam or Rodney, any of whom would be the most likely to be on duty in such circumstances, another communication came through on an encrypted channel, a text that read, ‘Trojan-B. This is not a drill.’

“Aw hell,” John groaned. “I leave him alone for a couple days, and…”

Å 

Not surprisingly, there were a lot of logistics to sort out in running an Ancient city on lockdown, when she would only recognize three people at her controls. Eli and Sovar together had determined which critical areas required guards posted. The primary armory, food store and Infirmary, Control Tower Command and stargate decks, Command Chair room and ZPM power room, Jumper Bay. With the mysterious prior ‘Trojan-B’ lockdown superseding their own, they didn’t have access to all those areas, but they could certainly patrol outside them, to make sure no sabotage was attempted. 

It hadn’t taken long for them to realize that not all of the Expedition armaments were in the primary armour – they must have been spread to other locations, but the Atlantis AI hadn’t been able to identify just where. The same with the medical supplies and food. Someone had been playing games. 

Then they needed hunting teams to chase down their missing civilian cohort, and with Cartwright required in ops, that left just Alderson and Esteban to accompany each mobile group with the necessary LSDs, as door openers. Once they located and secured the fugitives, they could finally drop the lockdown, so their forces could move more freely around the city. They would finally have all the extra zeds they needed to efficiently operate the city and provide jumper pilots. Even if they had to off-load some of the more uncooperative and adamant to the Mainland, Eli was confident most would be reasonable… with the application of appropriate leverage. 

He would enjoy seeing DiNozzo bend to his will. 

Ziva watched her father scheme and plot and order his pawns into place… very much in his element. Even General Sovar seemed to recognize his knack at this kind of strategy, as he was willing enough to step back and let Eli command his men. 

Ziva watched with somewhat jaundiced eyes. 

At a lull in activity, Eli sighed and rested back in Carter’s chair, surveying with some satisfaction all he had accomplished in the past ten hours. Ziva served him a meal of MRE’s – all that were available with the mess hall kitchens shut down. As he ate, he became aware of a certain… restrained quality in Ziva’s silence. 

“You have something to say, daughter?”

“I am not convinced taking the city was a sound idea. It has been tried before, without success. And it resulted in many deaths. Only three of them from the Expedition.”

Eli nodded slowly. “Yes, I have studied those failures, and am mindful of what happened when Kolya tried it. The key, of course, is to get a zed to control the city, and we have that.”

Ziva cocked a skeptical eye at her father and he shrugged, granting the point. 

“Yes, we will need a much stronger ATA gene than the three we now have if we are to operate the more vital systems and the Command Chair, but we do have Beckett, once he wakes, and shall soon have more in hand. Another requirement is to hog-tie Sheppard and those loyal to him, and this also has been done. He’s on the other side of the gate and can’t reach us. Triggering lock-down to trap and isolate pockets all over the city, then neutralizing the pockets one by one, shoving the military out of the city where they cannot possibly be a continuing danger to us... this, too, has been done. There are little groups of our opposition stranded all over the Mainland, with no way to get back. So now there remains only to find our errant civilians and see which of them we can convince to join us, or at least, serve us with minimal complaint. I’m sure McKay and Reid can be reasonable, if approached properly. As for your Agent DiNozzo… he has two children to protect, very soon three. Will he risk opposing us if they are at hazard? I think not.”

“We could be arrested for treason for this.”

Eli smiled. “So little faith in your papa? You must know that I have plans and contingencies for every eventuality. But my main goal… It is truly said that it is the victors in a conflict who write the histories. I can hardly be called a traitor to myself, now can I?”

“Really, papa? You want to take over the world?” Ziva’s tone was just the wrong side of derisive. 

“And why not? How could I *possibly* do a worse job than the passel of fools who run it now? All it needs is for Atlantis to sail into Earth orbit, and it can all be ours, my Ziva. Ours. Yours, mine and Tali’s. Is that not a goal worth pursuing? And even should we fail… I have the keys to the stargate network, now. There is no limit to where we can go, what we can do. If Earth will not be our home, we can surely find some other planet willing to follow us to greater prosperity and security, without ever again having to worry about terrorists, roadside bombs, missile attacks, surrounded by enemies on all sides and uncertain allies, or threats within our very walls. That is all any of us have ever wanted.”

Ziva met her father’s black eyes with her own, so like his. They stared at each other for a long moment… then Ziva blinked and bowed her head. “Yes, papa. That is all I have even wanted. A safe place to sleep at night, without fear, or having to be perpetually on alert.”

“Then this we shall have, my daughter. I promise you this.”

Å 

Daniel Jackson watched one of the monitors Garcia had lowered into the Aquarium, tied into the surveillance system. He made a huff of frustration. “How did this even make sense to them?” he demanded, gesturing to the two, count ‘em, two groups hunting for some sign of the missing non-combatants. “They’ve got just three people who can operate any of the systems while on lockdown, and one of those has to stay on the ops console. And they’re searching a city the size of Manhatttan.”

“It’s pretty clear what they thought they’d do,” McKay snarked between contractions, coming pretty damn close together now. “They thought they’d grab us, and have half a dozen, maybe a dozen secret zeds to do their stupid bidding. Ow ow ow! Meredith Joy, I promise I will embarrass you by taking you to your high school prom myself!”

Dr. Hartley had hovered near to try and keep the scientist calm, trying one trick after another to distract and soothe. At last, he just plopped Anna on the man’s chest, and told the cat, “Y-you talk to him.” Then he retreated a step or two to flop on a comfy chair and cradle Emily, the little purple tabby, to his chest, while Larry, Darryl and Darryl sat at his ankles. 

Tony was actually doing pretty good, over by the panoramic undersea windows, with Miko rubbing his back, Torren and Tali both hovering close. 

“My brover coming soon?” Tali asked with big soulful green eyes. 

“Pretty soon now, angel,” Tony agreed, suppressing the next contraction with a hissed breath. He would have like to have sworn like a sailor, but not with all the kids around, not least of all his own. The adults assisting him all grinned, knowing just from the strained look in his eyes, exactly what he was thinking. 

They’d played movies, Spencer had run through quite a few of his magic routines and science lessons, and got the kids to take rests, before coming up with a kind of Kim’s Game to distract them, to find and identify the most fish they could see outside. 

Then Phil had taken pity and drawn the children into a story time, where he regaled them with the Welsh legends of his childhood. Others of the international collection of people offered their own native customs and legends, which killed another couple of hours. 

But everyone was pretty involved with the ongoing drama happening before their eyes… Agent Tony and Dr. Rodney about to give birth to their babies. 

It had become evident pretty early that they weren’t going to be able to get to the Infirmary for the birth, and when the surveillance cameras showed Carson and Keller both being stunned and dragged off to the jumpers, to be taken god knew where… well. It nearly put McKay into a panic attack then and there. He began rattling off all the risks of pregnancy, for the baby and for him, all the potential complications they might expect and had no way to handle… 

Which was when Dr. Hartley stepped up. 

Spencer was mulling over a few ideas, wondering if his Furalin abilities extended beyond putting an agitated person to sleep… maybe, if he was skilled enough, he could ease the pain centers? Just a little… just enough for reassurance? And maybe he could calm the sense of dread even Tony was beginning to feel as his time approached?

“I wanted John to be here for this!” McKay wailed. “It’s all his fault, after all… but he kept telling me we were in this together… I wanted him here with me, to welcome Meredith Joy! He’ll be so sad to miss this…”

“Hey, McKay,” Tony called over, “Garcia is recording this for posterity, so you can make him watch it when he gets home. And until then… well, neither of us are even close to being alone in this! Right?”

“I guess,” sniffled McKay, eyes red, breath hitching as yet another contraction hit. 

Vala stood by Daniel’s side, watching the unfolding drama. “I know natural childbirth is a beautiful and wonderful thing… but after my own experience, and how badly that turned out…” 

Daniel’s big soulful eyes were just oozing sincere and heart-felt sympathy and understanding as they turned in her direction… damn the man. He stepped the closer and wrapped an arm around her drooping shoulders. 

“I know,” he whispered. “I’m still clinging to the hope that Morgan can do what you and I couldn’t, and redeem Adria. It is possible, Vala. I promise you. Anyone can be redeemed. I’ve seen it happen.”

Vala swallowed on a formidable lump in her throat, and heaved a large sigh. “And maybe one day I’ll get another chance to do a proper job of parenthood… but for now, watching this is just a little too much for me. You go help with McKay and Tony, you’re needed there. I’ll just be over here, as far out of the way as possible, and help keep the kids distracted. Over here, kids! Let me tell you the adventures of Mal Doran, the beautiful lady space pirate, famed in song and story, and the heroes of SG-1…” 

The Athosian midwife, Selena, was now sitting poised between McKay’s spread legs, an afghan draped over his hips for modesty, watching for the first signs of Meredith Joy’s head. Evgenia was beside her, to assist, with wet cloths, a basket of emergency supplies – swabs, gauze, scissors, sterile packaged needle and sutures. Tony, not quite so advanced, and seeming to be a little better able to cope, had his kids at his side, and Spencer hovering near, and Miko kindly massaging his back. Daniel was also ready to play midwife yet again, should Tony start racing McKay to the finish. 

Around them the windows rattled with the shouts of two men, their contractions almost synchronized.

Å


	8. No Way Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! Very bad (non-English) words used in the heat of labor!  
> Quebecois French:   
> maudit: "damn" (lit. Bad word)  
> torrieu: "harm to God"  
> simonaque: from the sin of simony (buying & selling ecclesiastic favors)  
> tabarnak: "tabernacle" (this is a VERY bad word, not to be used in company)  
> Italian:   
> Porco cane! - For God’s sake! (lit. pig dog: would that be a reference to one of my fav films, *‘Babe’*? Probably not?)  
> Col cavolo! - No way! (lit. with the cabbage! Hunh? Gotta love this one…)  
> Che due palle! - What the heck! (lit. what two balls)

Å 

Slowly, Dr. Carson Beckett awoke… but he wasn’t best pleased about it. 

With a groan for any number of odd, unaccountable aches… stinging pains in his wrists, which seemed to be suspended somewhere above his head, numbness in his hands from being held up like that, to the detriment of proper blood circulation, soreness in his arms, and in his back and hips, which seemed to be twisted and slumped somehow in a terrible posture, not to mention his butt, also numb to the point of painful. He shifted his legs awkwardly… and even though his surroundings seemed far too bright, he opened his eyes. And blinked in alarm. 

He was on the Command Deck of the Control Tower, and he was hand-cuffed to the balcony rail. With a grunt and a groan, he tried to shift, to get his limbs into some approximation of a more comfortable position… as much as his restraints would allow, anyway. Once his knees were lowered, Galen, the serene puss, climbed into his lap, and circled, then flopped to resume what had apparently been a briefly interrupted nap.

Well, at least someone was comfortable!

“Ah, Dr. Beckett,” greeted Eli David, coming out of Sam’s office to stand over him with a patently false smile. “You’ve joined us, at last.”

“Joined you?” Carson demanded in high dudgeon. “*Joined you*!? I have not joined anything of the sort! Release me at once!”

“Ah, now, that would be very unwise of me, wouldn’t it? Given your uncooperative attitude?”

“You’re a bloody mutineer! An invader! A damned traitor! Of course I’m not going to cooperate with you!”

“I think you’ll find you are in error there, doctor. I am the duly constituted representative of the IOA, sent here because the IOA Council, every single member, felt the Atlantis Expedition leadership were actively and deliberately working against them, keeping secrets, acting without authorization, failing to obey standing orders, let alone following individual directives sent out in the past year. If anyone on the city is a mutineer, it is O’Neill and his hand-picked pawns.”

“And you needed a load of rogue Genii outlaws and hooligans to make your point for you? With stunners and hand-cuffs?” and he rattled his wrists against the balcony bars.

“I have been given every assurance that they, at least, will live up to the bargains we have made. That was part of my mandate from the IOA when I was sent out here. To establish contact with the disparate groups the Expedition had alienated in hopes of smoothing over tensions and making alliances. This I have done. And when I determined that, without any doubt, O’Neill and his toadies were running the Expedition into the ground, I intervened. Also as I was expressly directed. So, as you can see, I am the rightful and lawful authority on the city, not O’Neill, Carter or Woolsey.”

“You made alliance with Pyol Sovar? Are you aware that just today, he abducted Dr. Reid and sold him to the Wraith? Luckily, the lad managed to talk his way out of that perilous situation until he could be rescued, but… the man sold him to the Wraith! What assurance could he possibly have given that makes you trust the bastard?”

“Ah yes, well, that was an unforeseen complication. Neither of us intended to lose Dr. Reid, certainly. We were promised the Wraith-worshiper only wanted to talk.”

Carson’s eyes narrowed. “You set that ambush up, didn’t you?”

“I merely supplied a trusted ally with certain… information. It’s not as if it’s a secret, what our law enforcement personnel are likely to do when called to an urgent off-world incident.”

Carson practically growled, and Galen, opening one gleaming eye, also rumbled low in his throat.

Sovar approached, grim and unhappy. “Enough, Eli. He’s not going to believe you have the good of the Expedition at heart. And if he won’t join us of his own free will, we need to be more… assertive in our persuasion. Your tame Veralin can’t get into the necessary systems we need to consolidate our position, but he can. You make him comply, or I will.”

Carson blinked around the ops deck, and soon noticed young airman Cartwright, looking very stressed, almost seeming to battle with the command consoles as he bent over them, eyes darting in fleeting glances at both Eli and Sovar. Yes, the lad’s ATA gene was not of the highest order, certainly. 

“You think I can man the control consoles? You must be mental! I’m a clone, or don’t you realize that? My original may have been nominally a member of command staff as Chief Medical Officer for the Expedition, but even he didn’t have any of the executive codes or access. At his death, all of the access he did have and command codes he used were deactivated or altered. And when they first picked me up, I was under the influence of Michael, the Wraith hybrid who created me, left with any number of subliminal mental commands that made me unreliable, if not actively untrustworthy. So although I was allowed to work as a medical practitioner, I’ve never been re-instated as CMO, or allowed any sensitive command responsibilities. I’m the walking talking definition of compromised! I’m no bloody use to you!”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Carson recognized that perhaps it had been unwise to make such claims. If he was no use to them, would they just… kill him? He was suddenly horrified, as it occurred to him that he didn’t know where anyone was, or what state they were in. When airman Esteban had lead a bloody great gang of Genii soldiers into the Infirmary, Carson had been one of the first to step forward and protest… and been stunned right away for his trouble. He was still feeling stiff and achy from that assault. Definitely not at his best, and he wasn’t a fighter to begin with.

He became aware, too, of a headache eating away at his temples, growing in intensity. And with his wrists cuffed, he couldn’t even reach to rub at the pain in an attempt to find comfort. Galen sat up in his lap and blinked at him, then placed his paws on Carson’s shoulders and butted his furry head under his chin. At once the ache seemed to lessen… to be replaced by an awareness of… 

Hostility. Impatience. Nagging anxiety. Burning anger. And further out, stark terror. The whispers of words seemed to want to get through too, but Carson closed his eyes tight shut, hoping to hold that at bay. Was this what Spencer and Tony felt? Was this a sign his own latent Furalin abilities were finally coming to the fore? At the worst possible time, naturally.

So far, no one had asked about the Trojan-B protocols… he could only hope Rodney and the others were safely hidden away from these damned fools. Honestly, didn’t they ever learn? In the meantime, he needed information, reassurance that the Trojan-B plan had been properly implemented and the civilians were all safe, and to keep himself alive and ready to act at need. That was one of John Sheppard’s sternest lessons to everyone. In a hostage situation, their primary duty and responsibility was to stay alive, until rescue could come. Everything else could be fixed later.

And then, like a stroke of lightning, a wave of unbelievable pain struck him, right in the lower abdomen… Labor pains… labor pains? Oh no! Of all the worst times for Rodney, or Tony, or possibly both, to go into labor… Carson gasped and panted through the intense cramping, praying for it to be over soon…

And every joke about a zed couple having a maximum of three children, if they took turns at pregnancy, now made sense… women may be able to forget and court this kind of agony more than once, but a man? Not a bloody chance in hell!

With such a distraction, struggling manfully to hide his reactions, Carson didn’t notice that Eli had someone release his cuffs. But he knew he was on his side on the floor, Galen complaining with a yowl for getting kicked mercilessly out of the way, when some other bloody bastard yanked on his arms to get him to stand up. And then that someone had to hold him, because he just couldn’t stand on his own. They heaved and pulled and yanked at him until they dropped him unceremoniously in a control console chair.

“Tell it to give you the location of the missing civilians,” Sovar commanded him, gruffly. 

“Tell it to what?” Carson retorted, staring up in disbelief, all the while keeping a lid on his sudden overwhelming relief… Trojan-B was apparently working. “I’m a doctor, not a bloody technician!”

Eli supplied, “We need internal scanners focused on the city. We’ve been trying to find the civilian staff. McKay, DiNozzo, Reid, Kusanagi, the children, scientists, Athosians and refugees… all of them are hiding. We won’t harm them, doctor, but I’m sure you realize we need to ensure their safety.”

And your own, you bloody wanker. McKay is going to blow you so high and wide for this... especially with the mood he must be in by now, if Meredith Joy is on her way.

“And the military? Sam, Woolsey, the General?”

“They’re all safe,” Eli assured with another of his politician’s smiles. Carson reached out, as Reid had described, as Tony had explained his ability to tell truth from lies… yes, no one had yet been harmed in any way. He got a brief picture of unconscious stunned bodies being loaded on jumpers… 

“They’re on the Mainland?” Oh, thank god.

“Yes, safe and unharmed, any of them. We just need to be sure the civilians are also accounted for.”

And true enough, as far as any of it went. Oh, thank the good lord. 

But then, he caught the barest wisp of something else… disgruntlement. The tall, gaunt, iron lady over by the wall, arms crossed on her thin chest, glaring at the Genii and Eli alike… Her eyes met Carson’s, for just a moment. And the smallest hint of a smile and nod greeted him. Her attention felt like… respect. Almost… reverence. For him? He blinked, not understanding that at all. He had assumed she was part of Sovar’s gang, if not Eli’s. He had also noted that Eli had others at his back, besides his lethal daughter. Late residents of the stockade, unless he missed his guess, the jaffa with the Sokar tattoo, the murderer and saboteur Reid had caught on the *Daedalus*, and the four Lucian Alliance pilots… and that idiot Eli expected him to believe this act of aggression with enemies of the city was fully endorsed by the IOA? Who were themselves a pack of barely sentient amoebas, if they had anything to do with approving this. 

“Dr. Beckett,” and a certain steely threat entered Eli’s voice. “We need you to unlock internal sensors, at the very least. Please at least attempt to do so.”

With a heavy sigh, Carson had no difficulty in *attempting* to do so. In the past, the only systems that ever obeyed him without reservation and hindrance, were those connected with the Infirmary, and the Ancient medical equipment. The rest of the city machinery had never paid him much mind before now, and every time he tried to put his much-vaunted ATA gene to work in the past, it had only back-fired, often disastrously. Maybe they needed a bit of disaster right now… short of actually blowing up the bloody bridge entirely.

“Oh, very well…” he gave in with poor grace. He did as airman Cartwright directed, and yes, he did manage to get a little further than that poor, terrified boy, enough so a screen lit up telling them that Trojan-B required the proper authorization codes to unlock that information… 

“I’m sorry… no wait, I’m not bloody sorry at all, but that is the best I can do for you.”

With a huff, Eli directed the jaffa, “Take him to my office, and hand-cuff him again. We may need him later.”

The jaffa bowed and said, “Yes, Lord David.”

Carson could hear an ongoing argument taking place out there in ops. One of Sovar’s lieutenants – not the attractive curly-haired girl, one of the scarred old veterans, no doubt used to be in Kolya’s charming employ – was arguing that he was no use and dangerous to keep like this, they should just kill him, and dispose of the body where it will never be found. Carson’s blood went cold. But then the Iron Lady spoke up, loud and adamant, for everyone in Command and even below on the stargate deck to hear… 

“Harming a Veralin is High Crime. You really wish to do that?”

And, probably from any number of sources, Carson was inundated with appalled resistance to the very idea of even touching him… and scenes of increasingly desperate people, pleading, begging for Veralin help… promising, swearing, never to violate the Law again… even knowing how futile their cries were. 

The Genii had killed a Veralin once, long ago. They had captured one, and foolishly thought he could be persuaded, bought or coerced to help them attack another group. He refused. So they proceeded to intimidation, threats and finally torture… and still he remained adamant. Finally admitting defeat, sheer terror drove them to desperate measures. Seeking to hide what they had done, they killed and buried him deep. But he had been found all the same, and no Veralin was ever even seen by any Genii, ever again. Calls for help with sickness, natural disaster, culling after culling… went unanswered. Only with the advent of the Lantean Veralin did the Genii people get even a whiff of forgiveness, of a second chance. And while some serving under Sovar had come to think the Genii people, having gone so long without it, no longer needed Veralin mercy or forgiveness, Sovar could not bring himself to shut that last door on hope. It would be his last, his very last, choice.

For Eli, of course, it was a matter of sheer pragmatism. A zed/ATA in the hand, after all… 

Å 

Captain Kysol of the Traveler ship *Refuge* led her First Mate down the almost endless sets of stairs to the sea-level platforms, then back to the East Pier, and the ramp to their vessel. She was shaking her head, muttering angrily to herself. “They have no idea. I don’t know who those three tame puppets are they have following their orders, but they are no true Veralin. They don’t even have familiars! They’ve chained up and threatened the Healer Veralin! And the Magic Veralin is nowhere to be found. That fool Eli sits in the captain’s chair and thinks he is lord of all, even as those Genii outcasts and that tattooed alien tells him he is, and he has no idea. They’re going to eat him alive. Gastof, are all our people on board?”

“Yes, Captain.” 

“And none of the interlopers?”

“All are on the city, Captain.”

“Then shut her up and be ready to lift. I want to be far above when the shooting starts, and that bastard Sovar was just waiting until he had total control. He may have wanted to wait until they found the hidden Veralin, but he may not bother. Sheppard will be on his way, and he knows that, and when *he* gets here, blood is going to fly everywhere. Sovar won’t want to tarry for that meeting.”

“What is our heading to be, Captain?”

“No heading, just orbit, over the city. Run scanners to locate the castaways on the Mainland and prep runabouts. We’ll get ready to pick them up as soon as we reach orbit. That fool they have on Atlantis controls doesn’t know how to run scanners on near orbit, he’s too busy with a dozen other things he can’t manage by himself, and will never notice what we’re up to. Then we wait for Sheppard to get here.”

“When will that be?”

“When he found the Atlantis gate locked against him, he’ll have dialed immediately into the nearest gate to this world. That’s about fifteen hours out at top hyper-speed, maybe less, if he pushes it, and he will. So, maybe, ten hours more? We’ll be ready. And we don’t want him to mistake us as his enemy. So we need the time to collect his people and talk them into listening to us. We still have a mission of our own to accomplish, after all.”

“Yes, Captain. To contact the Magic Veralin.”

“And ask him what the *hell* he’s been telling everyone.”

Å 

“Okaaay,” Baldrick said, “Didn’t expect that. Hey, everyone, the Traveler ship is leaving. One less enemy to seek and destroy, right?”

Edmund Black sidled up to his partner to peer over his shoulder. “Wonder what she’s up to?”

“She did not seem to like her passengers, did she?” Yuri observed. 

The three security specialists were all on the surveillance monitors Garcia had provided, taking over from Tony when he became rather engrossed in other far more pressing matters. 

The two roving search teams of rogue Genii had begun with West Pier Tower 5, the sciences tower, and had scoured the top thirty floors, to no avail. They had stopped at the sea-level bulkheads, their Life Signs Detectors thoroughly blocked by Garcia, to prevent detection of a single person, although everyone in the Aquarium had held their collective breath, just in case… 

But that had been hours ago. After that, the two search teams had split up to rummage around cleared towers on the North and East piers. That’s where most of the hydroponics sections, food storage silos and civilian billets for Athosians and any refuges were all located, and must seem like the next most logical place to find the hidden personnel. So, nowhere near them.

Yuri continued, “Captain Kysol looked most displeased with the state of affairs, in fact. Dissension in the ranks, do you suppose?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Edmund admitted. “Their alliance seemed strained from the beginning. And… oh look. The Genii on the ops deck appear to be arming themselves and moving into position. Where’s that bloody Ziva? She ought to be on the look-out for just this kind of move, and she is her daddy’s security and bodyguard!”

“Yes, well,” Baldrick shrugged philosophically, “If she were good at watching people’s backs, she’d still be with NCIS. If she was any good as a bodyguard, poor little Leah Sasson would still be alive.”

“True enough,” Edmund admitted.

Å 

Contrary to popular belief, Ziva wasn’t a complete idiot, and in her years with Gibbs and Tony, some basic profiling and law enforcement skills had rubbed off, in spite of herself. Together with honed Mossad paranoia and spy-craft… oh yes, she knew their ostensible allies were preparing to double cross them. It was only a question of when. 

Seeing the movement of Genii soldiers around the Command Deck, and below on the stargate deck, she joined her father in his office. Dr. Beckett had been hand-cuffed again and shoved to sit in a corner out of the way, watching them all with a furious scowl, and a cat with grey stripes, spots and swirls in his lap. Shelyapin sat at the table, studying something on an Expedition laptop, with the jaffa, Bas’er, at his shoulder. The four Lucian pilots were scattered in defensive positions outside the office, around ops. But, should shooting start, they were grossly out-numbered. Cartwright was too valuable as their only city operator to endanger, by either side. But he was a young fool, easily led, easily tricked, and easily intimidated. He was a follower of orders, from the strongest bully in the room. Their only other certain allies, Alderson and Esteban, were both somewhere out in the city, each with a whole squad of Genii at their backs. Even with Groves, Lorenzo and Snider of AR-19 backing them up, that was just not enough.

“Father?” she prompted him, not having to spell out the question in her eyes. 

“They’ll wait at least until we have found the hidden civilians, my Ziva.”

“Are you certain of that? Because…”

“Cartwright has prepared a command I have access to from here, which will immediately neutralize everyone on the Command and stargate decks. A blanket stun ray. He has made an adjustment to exempt this office from that ray. Should Sovar be fool enough to betray me…”

Å 

Sovar could not forebear to tap at his thigh as he considered the rapidly deteriorating situation. Time was running out. McKay was still out there somewhere, and no one knew what infernal plan he might have hatched in the hours since the city fell to them. Sheppard might be hours, or even minutes away, and they still did not have their hands on the auto-destruct, or any of the valuable hostages they would need as leverage. Then that damned Traveler bitch had launched, leaving them all high and dry, and wasn’t answering their hails. So now, they could either use the Gate of the Ancestors, or get one of the Veralin to fly them out on a jumper… those were their only current escape routes. 

So close to gaining the city, to have it all fall apart now! If they’d been wise, they would have aborted the plan the instant the realized the Veralin they needed had hidden themselves out of reach. But they had too much to gain, too much to lose, and there was still the hope they could track the missing people down… But he dared not wait very much longer before deciding to move to his alternate plan.

They had got as far as they could, and he knew that. It didn’t take Bonar Bosh’s whispered warnings, or Myla Wirrin’s heavy looks to convince him of that.

In their search for the fugitives, his men had noted and tagged all of the supply areas they had seen, all the helpfully labeled crates of C4 explosive, weapons, food and medicines. With Eli’s three Veralin, they would even be able to load and steal the coveted Jumpers, and that was a significant advantage no one else, outside the Lanteans themselves, possessed. It wasn’t all they had hoped for, but he could be content with that. 

So, with a few covert hand signals, he got his people moving into position, and Bosh, retreating to the outside balcony for privacy, contacted his men in the city.

At his shouted “Now!” his people sprang into action.

The four nameless aliens, under command of the tattooed one, went down without a mutter, shot dead in the first volley. This was no time for stunners, after all. 

Cartwright bolted from his chair, but he was stunned and fell to the floor, Myla pulling him to the wall, well out of the way of any fighting. 

Out in the city, Alderson, with Lorenzo and Snider backing him up, managed to dodge the first attempt at a stun, and exchanged fire. Their Genii escort, fighting back with a will, now, outnumbering them five to one, quickly dispatched all three. Killing the Veralin hadn’t been in the plan, was a dreadful necessity when it was kill or be killed, but their Lieutenant, Bonar Bosh, scarred veteran of Kolya’s campaigns, had warned them not to let superstition interfere with duty. So Alderson was dead with his mates.

Esteban was taken totally by surprise, was stunned and fell to the ground, but Groves fought back like a madman, taking half a dozen Genii down, until he was forced to retreat... and in a desperation move, picked up an unconscious Esteban, nothing but a lousy effem, after all, but with enough value to the bastard Genii to use as a shield… enough value, maybe, but it didn’t stop the Genii from firing anyway. A hail of Genii bullets took them both down. 

It was neither as quick, nor as neat as it should have been, but at least it left the Genii in control, and so they reported.

Sovar nodded, well satisfied, if unhappy that they only had two Veralin left, Cartwright and the doctor, to open the way for them and help them steal vital supplies and jumpers. Next it would take…

A bright light washed over the entire Command Deck… and Sovar collapsed. Along with everyone else inside. Apart from those in Eli’s commandeered office… and Bonar Bosh on the outer balcony. 

Å 

Shelyapin glanced at Eli and merely shrugged. “It would have been nice if we could have kept Atlantis, but… without a zed with a sufficiently strong ATA, who we could have got to serve us? It was ever just a dream.”

Eli nodded regretfully. As soon as he realized the civilians had slipped his net, he had known this was coming. If he could have found and restrained them soon enough… but it was not to be. 

When he and his conspirators left the office, they were suddenly fired upon by one last Genii. Bosh had escaped the stun ray by being outside at the time. 

Ziva, Shelyapin and Bas’er returned fire… and soon enough, Bosh was hit and sent over the balcony parapet, to plunge the countless floors into the sea… 

“Dr. Beckett. Take the seat, if you will,” Eli ordered, and the jaffa offered the doctor no chance to refuse. “I want you to unlock all doors between here and the jumper bay, if you will. This is a simple enough command, this console authorizes it at this level of lockdown, and even Cartwright was able to do as much.”

“I hope you don’t expect me to be able to fly a jumper for you. I’m an appallingly bad pilot.”

“You’ll be good enough for our purposes, doctor. I assure you. Now, open the doors for us.”

With a sigh, Carson did one better. He disengaged the lockdown protocols altogether. All the doors unlocked, all the force field barriers dropped… only the Trojan-B protocols were still in place. Carson feared for a moment that one of these villains would notice… but they were clearly too busy running for their lives. But at the very least, he wanted to leave the way open for Sheppard and his team, when they returned. Sooner rather than later, hopefully.

The jaffa grabbed him by the arm to force him to the nearest stairwell, to climb up to the jumper bay above them, while that murderer and Ziva David dragged the unconscious Cartwright along. Yes, well, that deluded lad could fly the jumper. When he woke up.

Å 

“Oh my god, what a mess,” Baldrick observed in a hushed voice. 

“What mess? What’s a mess?” McKay still had enough awareness to demand in querulous tones, which was pretty amazing, considering he was fully effaced and now less than an hour from parenthood. 

“Never you mind,” Evgenia recommended. “You have enough to contend with right here!”

Spencer lingered near, bringing himself up to date as Yuri cycled through the relevant screen captures. Eli’s alliance with the Genii hadn’t lasted all that long, and left a trail of bodies in its wake. But then, Eli himself had survived, with some supporters, and was making off with Carson, Cartwright, a couple of Lucian prisoners, his daughter, and a jumper. Oh, and Galen had hoped up the ramp, too. 

Damn it.

“Beckett brought down their lockdown before he left,” Edmund Black announced. “Our bulkhead locks are still in place, so we can only hope the Genii remaining won’t be able to track us down.” 

“Without a single person left in their ranks to run an LSD?” Spencer said, “Doubtful. It’s a big city, they’ve already searched this tower and not found us, and… With any luck…”

Edmund cocked him a skeptical eye. “And now you’ve jinxed us right and proper, Dr. Reid, thank you for that. How many certified trouble magnets do we have down here at this precise moment? Two of them *already* choosing the *exact* worst time to go into labor?”

“Well, okay, but still… how unlucky would we have to be for them to come back to a tower they’ve already searched, and stumble on us?”

“And again with the jinxing.”

Å 

The effects of the stunning ray in the Command Deck was nowhere near as long-term as Wraith stunners. So it wasn’t more than ten minutes before Sovar and his remaining people began to stir. However, the headache hangover was all the worse. 

Pulling himself to his feet, and recognizing just how screwed they truly were… Yes, Eli had left, with his daughter, the two Lucians, and the two Veralin. Bosh was missing, a smear of blood on the outside balcony… There was no one left to pilot a jumper, open the doors… 

His troops in the city reported almost at once that the city lockdown had been erased, force fields collapsed, locks disengaged, but transport cabinets were still off-line. At least they now had the freedom to roam the city at will. What were his orders?

Good question, he demanded of himself sourly. With the Traveler ship gone, the shield on the stargate still in place and not going anywhere without someone who could operate the consoles, and no one among his people who could fly them out of here on a jumper… He had exactly one option left open to him for escape. He had to find those damned civilians, and the numerous Veralin among them. With two Veralin dead, already guilty of High Crime twice over, he really had nothing left to lose. They would either serve him, or they would die. And if he couldn’t get out of here before Sheppard arrived… dead they would all be. 

Myla Wirrin was now at his side, although not looking her usual chipper self. 

“General? What orders?”

“We will send most of our men in small bands to collect as many supplies as they can get their hands on and take them to the jumper bay with all speed.” 

Myla cocked her head to one side. “But we have no one to fly the craft.”

“We will do. That is what I want you to do. We have very little time left to us, but we will use it to find those damned hidden civilians, and the Veralin among them. They are our only way out of here. Seek them out and bring them here, willing or not. If you must kill a few to get the rest to comply… then so be it.”

“And how will I find them, if the LSDs failed?”

“The Lanteans are tricksy. The Magic Veralin has powers we do not understand. I think they… clouded the devices, somehow. The civilians may very well have been hiding under our noses, the whole time.”

Cartwright had been operating one monitor with a map of the city, and the areas already searched for the errant civilians. The monitor had been left up when Eli had decamped with his followers. Sovar contemplated what he saw. 

“The West Tower 5, where all the scientists work. Our teams searched it… but only the floors above sea level. There are basement floors. Why did they not search there?”

“There were bulkheads closing off the lower floors, General, and the LSDs showed no life signs anywhere below.”

“Start there. Search again. One of the teams found weapons and that explosive, C4. Take some and blow the bulkheads, if you cannot pry them open.”

“Yes sir. At once.” 

Å 

“I might have known what you said would jinx us,” Edmund muttered. “Heads up, everyone, the Genii are upstairs right now, at the bulkhead, trying to get it open.”

“They can’t, though, can they?” McKay gasped. 

“Of course not,” Tony gritted out. “Garcia has all the access points, bulkheads and hatches covered. Right, Garcia?”

“Right, Boss.”

“Ummm…” Baldrick hummed. “And if they start laying C4 charges?”

“What?” Tony demanded, only to gasp and grunt with another severe contraction.

“Not your problem right now,” Daniel recommended as he knelt by the agent.

“Spencer?” Tony called out. “Anything you can do about this?”

“Like what?” Spencer asked, mystified. “I’m already doing what I can to help you and McKay control pain. I’ve got a pretty tight grip on you both right now, increasing your endorphins and relaxing your pelvic muscles. What else should I be doing?”

“Oh, I don’t know… How about letting us take care of us, and you do whatever it takes to protect the whole lot of us from murdering invaders! If you can reach me and McKay, surely you can dive into those Genii bastards up there and convince them to go away and leave us alone!”

“But, Tony…”

“McKay, tell him. I can take a little discomfort, if it means TJ, Torren and Tali getting through this in one piece!”

“What he said!” endorsed the Canadian, picking a piss-poor time to be agreeable! And then he let out a shout, and it began to turn into words, “Mother puss bucket son of a—“

“McKay!” Tony threatened, “Not with kids in the room! You gotta swear, do it in a language no one in this galaxy speaks, ‘kay?”

And again, even as Spencer, against his better judgment, loosened his tether on both men, McKay let fly with, “*Maudit*, *torrieu*, *simonaque*, *nom d’nom d’tabarnak*!”

And just feet away, Tony let rip with, “*Porco cane*! *Col cavolo*! *Che due palle*!”

Spencer blinked, momentarily distracted. “What did you say? With a cabbage?… no. Never mind. Later.” He took a deep breath, and knelt, placing a hand on Bast. Eyes tight closed, he reached… 

They were right above him. But there was twenty or so, and more arriving. All of them determined, desperate, maybe even a little scared. It was hard enough connecting with just one or two…

“High Crime…” a few of their minds whispered, in almost a whimper, and Spencer leaned on that. 

Then he sought out the leader, the one in command… a woman, Myla Wirrin. Dedicated. A true believer. They still had a way to win this, to leave with significant advantages in their fight to win Genea, overcome the fools now in charge, place a true, strong leader like General Sovar in command, and turn their people around to the true path, eradicating the Wraith. When that goal was achieved, within their grasp if they could only win today, then it wouldn’t matter what they’d done to get there. The whole galaxy would sing their praises, their crimes forgotten, forgiven. A ten-thousand-year scourge destroyed, all the people free, united under Sovar… with Myla at his side… Yes. That was worth any price they had to pay. Even High Crime. But first… they had to get this stupid door open!

He couldn’t find it, a hook, a crack in her walls… a true believer with unshakable faith in her commander and their shared vision of the future. There was no opening, no leverage he could find. But she was alert, prepared, ready at an instant to make a run for…

She couldn’t be that confident that they had time, could she? Without access to the jumpers, there was nowhere for them to run, they’d be trapped, just waiting for the Lantean forces to come and slaughter them all. 

He insinuated in her mind, told her there was no time left. Sheppard was coming. That was a mantra many a rogue Genii soldier had learned, long ago. A storm, a legend among the Genii, an unbeatable commander, who was beaten… by one man, a single warrior who wiped out over a hundred of them in a few hours… Sheppard was coming.

It was a calculated risk on his part, ratcheting up her desperation levels. What lengths would she go to? She called for C4… 

Okay, no, that wasn’t good. Why couldn’t they just leave, through the gate? Why did they need Veralin to fly jumpers for them? Just take what supplies they’d gathered, and go… 

The shield on the gate was locked, to keep Sheppard out. 

And Sheppard would have found another way to get back to the city by now. The Shield could come down. Leave. Take what you have now and leave… 

Wirrin got on her comm to her leader, and argued the case. The bulkhead wouldn’t budge, could not be unlocked, and even C4 wouldn’t dent it, or, if it did, it would cause too much damage, bring the tower down on them., or rupture the water-tight walls below, and drown anyone down there before they could get to them. What good would a lot of drowned dead Veralin be? They wouldn’t be able to fly the jumpers… open the gate and run. Take what they could and…

McKay gasped out weakly, “*Maudit*, *torrieu*, *simonaque*, *nom d’nom d’tabarnak*!”

Selena the midwife spoke calmly, “I see her, Rodney. Meredith Joy is nearly with us!”

Dr. Hartley took the scientist’s fist, and said, “Remember, you named her Joy, Rodney. Remember why you named her Joy!”

“Joy! Come to papa, baby! Don’t make me wait, my lamb!”

Daniel spoke, calm but with authority, “You still with me, Tony? I can see TJ. He’s just beginning to crown. Just a little while longer, now. Now push! Push!”

Spencer became vaguely aware that he wasn’t the only one still tied to the pain centres of the two men. Dr. Hartley had a firm grip on McKay, hands on his shoulders, Emily, Larry, Darryl and Darryl all gathered, Anna in their middle, all purring and staring at the man, Anna staring directly into his eyes with her own, both sets the same intense blue.

And over by Tony, next to Daniel Jackson and Aten, Miko had her hands on the archeologist’s shoulders, Lucifer twining around her ankles, as Luke took up position on Tony’s feet, as if anchoring him to the floor. 

Spencer finally let go, assured Tony and McKay were in good hands… and sent as strong a message as he could to those above who threatened all Spencer loved… 

Sheppard is coming. Just leave. 

Å


	9. Divining Rod

Å 

Dr. Radek Zelenka was *really* wishing Dr. Evgenia had volunteered her Russian self for this mission instead of him, because he could not imagine that being cooped up in an enclosed space with Rodney, a bunch of civilians and kids, and Dr. Reid, would be any worse than what he was enduring right now. 

Because he was cooped up in an enclosed space with no less than *three* sentinels on the ragged edge of a feral episode… because not only was Ronon roaring after hours of flying, worrying and no news, but so was Teyla! *Teyla*! Her mate was stuck on Atlantis in unknown peril, enough that Trojan-B was not a drill, and Col. John Sheppard… well. There had been signs right from the first year of the Expedition – what had become of the Genii who invaded during the storm… well… enough said there – but he had always managed to come back all on his own from whatever feral episodes he had flirted with in past desperate situations. Or, well, all on his own after the obligatory verbal sparring matches with Rodney, and physical sparring matches with Teyla or Ronon… Hm.

But not this time, evidently. Only the Colonel’s tight mental control of the jumper was keeping the man from going stark raving insane. Right along with Ronon and Teyla… *Teyla*!

All three of them were swearing and threatening bloody mayhem as soon as they got back to the city…

It was bad enough that they were all within arm’s length of each other, but Radek was being inundated with emotions he knew weren’t his... only James, sitting alert and eager on his lap, only too glad to join in a little hunting, small but serious predator that he was, helped Radek keep his wits about him. When they came out of hyperspace, screaming into the Atlantis solar system, Radek finally decided to apply the brakes. Mental and emotional brakes, that was, a trick many of the new zeds were picking up from Dr. Reid and Agent Tony. 

“That’s a rotten trick, Radek.” John snarled, feeling calming waves slither inside his brain.

Teyla also huffed. “My mate will have something to say on that score as well,” she warned the Czech scientist. “Only he is allowed to touch me in such intimate places.”

“Yes, well,” Radek defended himself, “Exigent circumstances. It’s allowed, within Furalin protocols. Neither Tony nor Rodney are here right now, and you three all need to calm down and start thinking up a plan. We need to know what’s going on at home before we just… dive in and make a mess. That isn’t going to help at all.”

Now reduced to a glower and mutter, rather than full on rage, Sheppard at least had presence of mind to engage the shields and cloak, and start scanning, for update on Atlantis and for communications. Hopefully, *someone* out there had answers for them.

First thing he found was a Traveler ship in orbit, their cloaking system pretty much useless against the jumper scanners… Shit! Was that the big crisis? The Travelers had finally made their move on the city? Then he noted that there was a jumper missing from the Atlantis Control Tower, apart from their own. He did a sweep, and just caught the faintest backwash of a hyperdrive trail in the system’s outer-most orbit. Someone had left in a hurry. 

Next, he tried to connect with the city, but the Trojan-B radio silence prevented him from reaching the Tower. He was too far to connect directly, mentally, with the AI… 

There was nothing for it. He’d have to call the Travelers. 

“This is Colonel Sheppard in Jumper One to the unidentified Traveler ship. You are in Lantean space, and the city is in lockdown. Please respond immediately.”

“Hey, Sheppard, glad you could make it back in time for the party,” came the jaunty voice of General O’Neill. “We’re giving Captain Kysol and the Traveler ship *Refuge* a pass on entering our air-space, since she’s helping us with a little vermin problem on our city, and all. Since you’re already within comm range, how about you hold your position while I give you a quick sit-rep?”

Sheppard merely growled a guttural, “Sir!”

Which caused O’Neill to say, “Zelenka? You there? What’s your status?”

Radek knew what the General was really asking. “We are calm for the moment, General O’Neill, but the situation is... strained.”

“Yeah, I’ll just bet a cookie it is. It isn’t going to get much better once you guys are read in, so, all of you, try and keep a lid on it. You need the 411 before we do a damn thing. And keep in mind, Trojan-B worked a treat, as far as the non-combatants and civilian escorts are concerned. They’re all locked down nice and snug, and hopefully we’ll have this SNAFU fully resolved in no time. So, you guys ready to listen?”

Sheppard took a deep breath, and said, “Ready for sitrep, General sir.”

“Good man. Okay, here goes. It started yesterday morning, when Eli David, our oh-so-helpful IOA rep, informed us he’d invited a bunch of guests to the city for a party...”

Okay, so the brief, very brief, briefing took a few extra minutes, and did *not* improve anyone’s mood in the slightest... from Eli’s high-handed and unilateral decisions, Reid’s adventures in Wraith-land, everyone barely returned home, safe and sound, some not even out of medical, when Eli’s guests had arrived, by Traveler ship. 

“And before you go ape-shit, Sheppard, Kysol had no part in the invasion plans, she was just their ride, and only went along because the Travelers want to keep an eye on Sovar and his crew, and have also been wanting to have a little chat with our Magic Veralin. Yeah, go figure. If it wasn’t for Kysol, we’d all still be stranded on the Mainland, instead of ready to go take back our city...”

And, yeah, hearing how the *entire* Atlantis military had been trapped, stunned and stranded, even when they knew trouble was incoming, wasn’t exactly their finest hour.

“Yeah, Carter’s working on new protocols so this doesn’t happen again. Shall I continue?”

He did. It didn’t get much better. But Colonel Carter, sitting beside O’Neill on the *Refuge* bridge, had used her tech mojo to hack into the AI surveillance system. So at least they now had at least some idea of what had gone down. How Eli was the treasonous inside man, how three disgruntled soldiers with circle tattoos who had taken the ATA therapy had *not* been happy with their transformations... so had been easy prey for Eli’s slick lies. How, when Eli realized his plans were a bust without the stronger ATA civilians to take full control of the city, to use as pawns and hostages, he had abruptly de-camped in a jumper, with his daughter, the Lucian prisoners, Beckett and Cartwright. 

Now, that caused the three Protectors with Radek physical pain... Radek cringed, feeling the same sense of failing a friend... Carson in the hands of those bastards, speeding away in a jumper they had no way to track or follow, once it entered hyperspace? Yeah, that was a failure that was going to haunt them... right up until the moment they could catch up with bastard Eli David and make him *sorry*.

As for the rogue Genii invaders on the city, now trapped and stranded themselves, they were bent on raiding every supply that wasn’t locked down, and hunting out the Veralin, any Veralin, they needed, even to escape. 

“So,” O’Neill finished up, “There you have it. Our people are all in the Aquarium right now, but the Genii are closing in on their position. This is annoying us greatly. So Kysol is going to land us on the East Pier so we can go deal with it. You wanna join us?”

“You betcha, sir! Is the jumper bay open for business?”

“It is. We’ve got a bit of a commute from East Pier to West, you’ll be half a city away yourself from the top of the Control Tower, and we’ve both got roving bunches of marauding thieves in our paths to contend with, so make best time. Be advised, there’s a hell of a lot of Genii roaming around… almost two hundred, Kysol tells me. Half are in smaller groups, carting mislabelled crates of cat litter up seventy flights of stairs to the jumper bay for some kind of a half-assed getaway plan… the other half are patrolling or converging on the Aquarium. Oh, and the guy in charge? Pyol Sovar? He’s somewhere on the loose with his elite guard, we’re not sure where, and he’s the guy who ambushed, kidnapped and sold the Reid kid to the Wraith, so don’t bother being polite if you come across him.”

“Reid’s okay, though?”

“Oh yeah. The kid talked his way out of a Hive ship... and he’s safe with the rest of the geeks. You know, I’d sure like to know what the *hell* that kid keeps telling people…”

“Yeah, okay… Well, good luck sir, and we’ll meet up at the Aquarium.”

“Cam Mitchell will have point for our guys, with Teal’c and Teldy’s team on his six, along with the entire Expedition military force. And even the guys who aren’t going berserker are chock full of bad attitudes and a grudge to settle. So watch yourselves.”

John was already on approach to the jumper hangar, the bay doors opening for him with a thought, the city greeting him warmly, with just the hint of a petulant, ‘What took you so long? I’ve been *waiting*...’

Not quite such a warm welcome was the ten or so Genii hauling crates into the jumper bay staging area from the stairwell. The idiots opened fire on a shielded jumper. As if.

“Radek? You might want to let go of that calming thing. None of us are going to be needing it for a while. And the plan? Raze and burn to the ground everything that gets in our way.”

With a grim nod, Radek let go of the empathic leash…

The ten Genii, who had been hauling their heavy crates up seventy-odd stories of stairs, were sweating, panting, and weak in the legs. It was a wonder they could lift their weapons at all. So when three enraged Protectors erupted out of the landing jumper to attack them… 

Yeah. That was a mess. And it was just the beginning.

Å 

Spencer could feel the headache pounding through his temples. It clawed at his focus, his concentration, but even without trying to hold Tony and McKay together, just fending off the heightened emotions all around him was difficult enough. There was no way his strength, alone, was enough to subdue the two or three dozen Genii crowding above them. Just trying to get into Myla Wirrin’s head was tough enough. And so far, his efforts to scare off the rogue Genii had only back-fired, after Eli and his conspiracy-within-a-conspiracy had decamped. 

Because now the rogue invaders had no way off the city, unless they could get at least one Veralin in their sights, and currently they had zero. 

Of the other zeds who were even nominally in touch with their Furalin natures, Tony had other more pressing issues to deal with, Miko and Dr. Hartley had enough on their plates just dealing with Tony and McKay. 

It was up to Spencer to do his best to hold off the enemy until help could arrive… and he would do it. No matter what.

But then he felt just a familiar whisper… James. James was on the city. Which meant AR-1 were back with Radek. Spencer sent out a plea for help… 

“AR-1 are back, guys. Tony? Teyla is here. McKay? John is coming. They’re here on the city and on their way. We just need to hold it together for a little while. Okay?”

“Teyla?” Tony asked, panting, weak.

“John?” McKay pleaded.

“Better than that,” Edmund supplied from the city monitors. “The Traveler ship is back. They’ve landed on the East Pier, and they brought our soldiers back. Mitchell and Teldy just ran off their landing ramp… and they do look *annoyed*.”

Spencer almost sighed. “Cameron.”

Edmund cocked a sly look his way. “Yes, your big strong sentinel is coming to your rescue… for the second time in as many days. In a white-hot berserker feral heat. I think you’ve run out of time putting him off, dear boy.”

“No no, Rodney!” Selena demanded. “You must push! You cannot just stop right now!”

“But John is coming… I want him here… he’ll miss it…”

“Rodney, it’s too late. You mustn’t stop now.”

“A stalled labor can be dangerous,” Spencer called up from his vast store of knowledge. Had he mis-stepped, offering this encouragement to his friends? “Tony?”

Daniel looked up, concern frowning on his face, wrinkling between his expressive eyebrows. “He’s exhausted. Maybe that’s all it is.”

“Rodney!” Selena was urging. “Push! It’s a backwards birth. You cannot wait much longer!”

“Backwards? What backwards?”

Spencer supplied, “Breech birth. Meredith Joy is coming feet first.”

“Or ass first, just like a McKay,” Tony gasped and joked wearily.

Spencer didn’t see much to joke about. Of all the complications a natural birth could present, a breech birth was fairly common… but without a fully equipped infirmary at hand, capable of performing a caesarian, it could also be the most dangerous. An umbilical cord pinched, an arm thrust out the wrong way, a baby struggling to breathe before fully free of the womb… 

As if they needed more tension in this situation.

The monitors on the surface bulkheads showed the Genii laying C4 charges, then backing away. A distant boom was heard in the Aquarium, slightly shaking the floor and sending the fish darting away… and the invaders swarmed down to the minus one basement level. Just one more bulkhead between them and the hidden civilians. 

Checking each other with glances and curt nods, Yuri, Edmund and Baldrick all pulled their personal weapons, checking for full ammunition clips and safeties off, as they ranged themselves at the stairwell entrance. Vala soon joined them, her own selection of personal arms ready to draw, including a P-90, handgun, and a zat. No doubt she had other weapons secreted about her person. The other adults, those not already engaged in assisting with child-birth, were moving back as far away from the central core as they could, opposite side to the stairwell doors, moving furniture to barricade and serve as some protection. They had gathered the kids together, behind them, though many were trying to peek and peer through legs and around shoulders. And Torren held tight to Tali’s hand, neither happy with the separation from their papa.

Tony sighed, looking up at Daniel as he struggled to breathe in the great gasps Evgenia was still trying to coach from he and McKay. He groaned, “I wonder what McProbie would do with a scene like this? A zed space cop in the throes of childbirth while waiting for the enemy aliens to bust in and kill everyone… Hey! Probie!” 

“Yeah, Boss?” Spencer called back. 

“Remember this for me, will ya? Wormhole X-Treme by Thom E. Gemcity!” 

“Why do… you know what? Never mind. It’s remembered.”

Å 

Pyol Sovar and his guard arrived at Myla’s location, and took a quick look at the situation. There had been no point remaining on the Command Deck, after all, and he could command his forces from anywhere, with their comm units. He had already been advised of the arrival of Sheppard’s jumper, and that betraying bitch Kysol… And had called for everyone to mount defensive lines, anything to keep the returning Atlantis forces from getting to them before they had their hostages in hand. 

“What news?” he demanded of Wirrin. The woman took a quick glance around at his vanguard, and noted who was *not* present… Bosh had apparently not survived. With a nod, she obeyed.

“From the strength of the locks and bulkheads, we are certain they are somewhere below. And close. We have heard shouts. I estimate they are but one floor beneath us. With the transport cabinet system down, this is the only entrance to the lower levels, as far as we can tell. So they are trapped.”

Just like us, Sovar had to admit to himself. He was about to repeat Kolya’s mistakes after all, and that rankled. Unless they could get their hands on valuable hostages. Maybe even get one of the hidden Veralin to release the transporters. Then the jumpers were just a panel-touch away.

“Very good. Proceed. But quickly, Wirrin.”

Unspoken was the warning… *Sheppard is coming.* 

Sovar spoke into the open comm circuits to all his forces… “Hold the line, everyone. At all costs.”

Å 

Seventy damn flights of stairs, Radek grumbled to himself. At least it was all down-hill for his team. And after that first bunch of invaders, all they found were abandoned crates, one of them broken open when dropped to spill sand all down the steps. 

Yeah, that had been one of Agent Tony’s cute ideas for Trojan-B… to play a shell game with supply bins. Red labels for the real supply crates of weapons, ammunition, explosives, food and medicines, blue labels for the switched in boxes full of cat litter, left in more obvious and accessible places. The heavier the better, he said, locked up good and tight, heavy will mean valuable to an invader and be all the harder to lug around with the transporters off-line… slowing down the enemy considerably. All to the good.

But the rogue Genii must have been warned of their arrival and given alternate orders… no doubt to abandon their attempts at wholesale theft in favor of forming a defensive line somewhere between the Control Tower and West 5. 

After a day and more sitting helpless in space, getting the bad news once they arrived, and now with a lousy, measly ten casualties behind them… John, Teyla and Ronon were all howling for blood, and no one to attack. Radek, half a flight of stairs behind, sighed and kept a tight grip on his P-90 and LSD scanner. The best he could do at this point was try and keep up, so he could warn when they were about to barrel straight into a nest of the enemy. Even once they arrived at the base of the Control Tower, they had two and a half miles to traverse before they reached West 5, and their waiting people.

Å 

Five miles separated the East Pier landing pad from West 5, and the Aquarium. Cam Mitchell, Anne Teldy and Dusty Mehra, with Teal’c at their side, led a hundred Atlantis soldiers, US, British, Russian, a dozen other nationalities, all primed and ready for a fight. But the canyons of the city streets were an echoing wasteland, only the wind and the hint of salt spray moving through. 

Sam Carter, with O’Neill and Woolsey at her shoulders offering very *un*helpful advice, was kneeling at the East Pier transport cabinet, hoping that between her tech savvy skills and Jack’s ATA gene, that they could override the transport cabinet system without actually turning the whole thing back on. Their aim was to get them to the Command center, where they could direct the operation to take back the city. At the very least, they needed to get the life signs monitors to warn them where all the pockets of rogue Genii might be lurking.

Å 

“Come on, Tony. I know you’re tired, but we’re almost there, buddy. Almost there. Just one more good push, and we’re done. You can’t stop now…” Daniel kept up a steady litany, even as Tony flagged, all but spent. “Come on, Agent DiNozzo, where’s that stubborn bastard who put up with Gibbs all those years?”

Tony huffed out a chuckle, then groaned in agony. “Don’t. Make. Me. Laugh!” he gasped and panted, at least trying to follow Evgenia’s instructions. “Okay… okay…” he huffed once and twice more. “Let’s do this…”

Glancing down even as he placed his hands back on his swollen, bulging, quivering belly, he began talking to his son. 

“Come on, TJ, buddy, don’t do this to papa. I know you’re tired, baby, but just another couple good pushes, and we’re both home and dry. Come on, buddy. I know you can do it. Your papa is the sneakiest, squirmiest, scrappiest guy there is. There’s literally no hole we can’t get out of. I’m a survivor, and so are you, kiddo. 

“And your other daddy? Leroy Jethro Gibbs, second b for b-… er, um… born marine-tough. He’s the stubbornest guy in the Known Universe, I gotta tell ya. And with genes like that, there’s no way you’re giving up without a fight. 

“And if you’re maybe a little worried, with all that negative inheritance maybe going against you? I totally understand, because my parents were both lushes, and my dad, a bona fide con man and lousy father. But don’t you worry, sweet-heart, because, you know what? We both lucked out there. The most wonderful woman in the Known Universe chose us to be in her family. She’s gonna rub those rough spots right off us both, don’t you worry, and replace it with all things warm, wise, loving, gentle, strong, brave, calm… we’ve both got a lot going for us, kiddo. And you know what else? You’re gonna have something neither of your daddies ever did – a brother and sister. Torren and Tali can’t wait to meet you, son. And neither can I. So… come on. For papa? One more good push, just one…”

With one more loud yell, it was over… Daniel gave a whoop, and caught the tiny, wrinkled, white-and-red-streaked creature in his hands. With one of the Athosian matrons handing him a towel, he carefully wiped the tiny red face, stuck a finger in the gaping mouth to swish and clear it of mucus, and was rewarded with a surprisingly strong, squawking wail. Or maybe not so surprising, for a DiNozzo, he amended. A fresh towel as receiving blanket, and Daniel tucked the newborn into his father’s arms. 

“Here you go, Tony. Meet your son, Torren Jethro.”

With a grin that could light up the entire city of the Ancients, Tony gazed in rapt joy and love at his baby boy. “Hey there, TJ… welcome to the world, buddy... Whoa!”

Daniel had to laugh. “Yeah, well, at least that works! Hey, Spencer, you got any newborn diapers in that kit of yours?”

“Oh, yeah… Carson ordered a double supply, and I took one pack. Just a sec and I’ll get it for you…”

Daniel winked at a grinning Tony even as he gently and carefully wiped at TJ’s tiny groin. “I guess he really is a genius.” 

It didn’t take more than a few minutes for the after-birth to follow, slipping easy as you please into the waiting plastic bag, scavenged from somewhere. Daniel waited until the umbilical cord, pulsing weakly, suddenly deflated and was still... then used the K-Bar knife Tony had himself supplied (“Rule Nine, always carry a knife...”) to cut the cord. The matron tied a string around TJ’s end, and they were done.

Daniel grinned around at the audience. “Hey. Everyone, say hello to TJ DiNozzo! And now I’m up to seven births. Carson is going to have a cow... when we get him back.”

Selena looked up from where her strained face was poised above their other expectant father. “If you are done there, Daniel, we need your help and expertise here.” 

Daniel glanced down... TJ, having finished voicing his displeasure at his change in circumstances, had already fallen fast asleep... just like his exhausted daddy.

“Yeah. I’m good here. Alia, can you watch them for me? Watch for any sign of bleeding... and TJ will need to feed when he wakes...”

Å 

“This won’t be enough explosive,” Myla Wirrin warned as they laid new C4 charges around the second set of bulkhead doors. “We’ll need more.”

Unfortunately, the one crate they had broken into that actually contained the needed explosive, rather than plain sand, had only held a very small amount, along with ammunition, useless to them at present, and it had all been expended on the first set of blast doors. Maybe they hadn’t needed all of it, but they were unfamiliar with the stuff the Lanteans used to such great effect, and now they had little for the rest of the job.

Sovar shook his head. “Use what you have, on the weakest points. At the least it should loosen the hinges, or the deadbolt lock, and we can break in the rest of the way with sledge-hammers.”

Wirrin nodded, and proceeded to direct their explosive experts.

And all the while, she battled the waves of sheer terror that assaulted her mind… and the repeated litany, *‘Sheppard is coming… Run!’*

Å 

“Colonel Sheppard!” Radek called out, half-a-block behind and struggling to catch up. “Stop! Stop. There’s a large group, heading to our location, should appear at the next intersection any time…” 

Sheppard, Teyla and Ronon turned back, only too eager to confront anyone they could find, no matter how severely outnumbered. Enhanced as their senses were, the wind blowing through the city canyons, the confusion of scents from the invaders, and the ambient noise, all made differentiation difficult, even for the more experienced Protectors, Teyla and Ronon. John just flat out ignored the cacophony around him. But then James, still at Radek’s heels, gave a warning yowl. And, echoing down the streets, was the unmistakable screech of a Pegasus lynx.

“Stop! Colonel, it’s Mitchell with AR-5 and the rest of our military!” 

“Well, it’s about damn time! Mitchell! That you up ahead?” Sheppard shouted.

“Yeah, it’s us, Sheppard. Meet you at the next cross-street.”

Once the two units met up, a quick sitrep was shared. 

Sheppard huffed, “All we’ve caught is a few stragglers, and not many of them. You?”

“We met one larger group, nothing we couldn’t handle. But Sam’s hacked into the transport system, got one to send her, O’Neill and Woolsey to Command. O’Neill’s got the internal scanners up, and he says we’ve got two barricades set up between us and the Aquarium. One at West Baker and twenty-fourth, the other at West Tower 5, right over the Aquarium. I think our best bet is to take out West Baker 24, then split up to take Tower 5 from two sides.”

“Agreed. I’ll take one, you take the other. Just keep out of my way, because I’m not sure how much longer I can hold on here.”

“I hear ya, pal. Let’s go.”

Å 

Spencer wasn’t sure which of them was the strongest in Furalin abilities, he or Tony. But with his Boss out like a light for the foreseeable future, the low grade empathic hum that had been grating on him, punctuated by waves of severe cramps, both dropped off. It had been seriously distracting Spencer this whole time, struggling to shield against it, though he hadn’t been totally aware of it. He suddenly felt a little more clear-headed and better able to cope. Now he could feel Anne and Radek on approach… closer, yes, but still not close enough, with the second set of C4 charges about to blow. The red-tinged haze of sentinel fury growing stronger all the time, although certainly reassuring, was also a bit of a distraction. 

Especially when, magnified by Anne’s participation, being both Furalin *and* sentinel, the Expedition forces engaged with the first line of Sovar’s defenses. 

The righteous wrath of the normal human military was easy enough to shove out of his mind, but the combined blood-lust of *six* sentinels, was almost too much for him. 

There’s no way the Genii stood a chance against that. Heightened senses, the near-precognitive ability to tell where a bullet was coming from, let alone predict every action of the enemy from eye-twitches, hunched shoulders, stance and hip alignment… it was over in mere minutes.

Dusty Mehra caught a stray bullet graze to her calf. Certainly not a bad enough wound to take her out of the fight, or even slow her down, the flood of adrenaline and sentinel-enhanced nervous system almost, if not completely, overwhelming any pain. 

A few military were left behind to restrain any survivors… not that there were many.

And the sentinel wave swept inexorably on.

Time for Spencer to do his bit. Delay, delay, delay.

Finding a niche in one of the bomb experts, he sent a quick wave of doubt – red wire or yellow? Yellow wire kills a fellow… no, red wire kills the fellow… 

That alone tangled them up for precious minutes. 

Å 

McKay was having a much tougher time. Breech birth, panicking, and Meredith Joy was stalled. The Canadian scientist huffed in a rare moment of relief. “I can’t believe that stupid space-cop got to the finish line before me!”

“Yes, well,” Daniel reassured, “He seems to be better at enhancing his calm, and practicing Evgenia’s breathing exercises. No worries, Rodney. We’ll get there.”

Which was a big, huge, stinking lie, Rodney could just tell… and suddenly, it wasn’t just Daniel’s reservations he was feeling, but Selena’s intense worry, too… breech births could go oh so wrong… she had lost babies before this, and mothers too, damaged and bleeding beyond any midwife’s ability to staunch… 

Meredith Joy! He was going to lose his precious Meredith Joy before John could even see her…

No!

It was nothing short of an eruption. No one on the city was far enough to escape it, as it swirled and flooded out in a tidal wave of empathic agony. *’NO!’*

Å 

In the Tower 5 stairwell, the rogue Genii were sent crashing to their knees, some screaming at the sudden wave of terror, building on in-roads already formed into their minds.

Out in the city, perhaps the crew of the *Refuge* were the least affected, although even they staggered, blind and deaf for a moment, as they struggled with the emotions not their own. 

In the Control Tower Command Deck, Sam, Jack, Woolsey and the small contingent of guards they had with them were reeling, collapsing into chairs, gasping out in pain.

And on the heels of their sentinel first wave, the military stumbled, some fell, all gasped and recoiled. 

Anne and Radek both screamed, dropping to the street, holding their heads in torment. Alison went immediately to her lover’s side, trying to find out what was wrong. Orion and James were both screeching into the air, shuddering and hissing out their unhappiness, trying to back away from… nothing physical.

Teal’c stood, staring and grim, riding out the wave of fear… he knew it was not his, did not, for the moment, know where it had come from, but even the Jaffa Master could not deny its force. 

Cameron, of all of them, seemed almost immune, feeling a muffling buffer in his head, guarding, protecting him from the pressure. And, really, what the hell? “Spencer? That you?”

Å 

In the Aquarium, it sent everyone to their knees, holding their heads and gasping.

Spencer had felt it at once, splitting from the head of the most formidable mind he had, perhaps, ever encountered. Combined with a Furalin’s abilities, it was devastating. With only an instinctive protective gesture to guide him, he immediately threw out a wall, to protect the kids, to protect his sentinel… A wall that was little better than paper, considering the force he faced, and how stressed, strained and extended his abilities already were. He hardly knew he was kneeling and bent in two himself, until Bast was there, and he grabbed onto her like a life-line. 

Slowly, knowing he had only minutes to try and contain this before it put them all out of commission, he crawled toward McKay, and grabbed at a groping hand.

“Pull it back, Rodney. You’re going to kill us, here. Pull it back!”

“I can’t!”

“You can!”

“Meredith Joy!” sobbed the man, helpless to control the roiling fear within, of losing the single most precious thing in his life…

“Meredith Joy needs you! She needs her papa to be strong…”

And then, Spencer was suddenly aware that there was not one epically strong empathic mind before him, but two… 

“Oh my god… Rodney! She’s there! Reach for her! She’s there, searching for you! Feel her!”

“Meredith Joy…”

And Meredith Joy answered, with a loud wailing cloud of elemental emotion. Tired! Angry! Sore! Trapped!

“Grab on, Rodney! Grab on and hold her! She’s too strong for me, she may be too strong for any of us! Grab on and make you her whole focus, and I’ll try and do the rest.”

“How… how…”

Spencer crawled closer and leaned over the man, taking his face in his hands and staring. He pierced through that shield McKay kept on his soul, and grappled with the true man underneath. The insecure child seeking love and not finding it… “No. That’s not you anymore. You have love. You know you do. You have John, and soon you’ll have Meredith Joy. Show her how much you love her. Grab hold of her with that. You know how to do that.”

“Yeah… yeah… I… I can do that.”

Damn, but Meredith Joy McKay-Sheppard was a force to be reckoned with. Only half born, and, joined to her formidable father, she had already managed to pretty much incapacitate the entire city. Spencer could only pray this was an effect of the stresses of labor, and they had at least until her terrible twos to get a better handle on how to teach her to curb her enthusiasms. God help them all when the teenage years came rolling around… 

And then the waves of intense emotion seemed to suddenly muffle, and Spencer all but collapsed, slowly, cautiously, releasing the mental blanket he had thrown around as many as he could, the most vulnerable… and he knew he would have to leave the Genii to their own devices, for now, if he was to get his own people up and moving again, as quickly as possible.

Luckily, Tony and TJ slept on, blithely unaware… 

Spencer had no clear idea how much time had elapsed, maybe only seconds from first to last, but it had left the Furalin among them still shuddering and shaken… even Daniel seemed woozy with relief at the sudden respite after such an attack. But jostling the archeologist’s shoulders seemed to be enough to get him sitting up. Miko and Dr. Hartley were all but unconscious, but now that the pressure was gone, they quickly blinked and were also sitting up. Evgenia was suddenly there at his side, too, spreading a calm around her built of wisdom and a wealth of life-experience.

“Miko? Doctor?” Spencer reached for this fellow Furalin. “Do you think you can help Rodney keep her focus? I think she’s going to be nearly uncontrollable until she’s fully born. Rodney’s the only one who can deal with her, but he needs help. See if you can get Anna to help stabilize them both.”

Miko nodded. “Hai. I can manage.”

“Oh, that hu-hurts…” Hartley moaned, but soon had himself upright. “Now *that* is one hell of a set of lungs.”

“I totally agree,” Spencer said fervently. “Can you help Rodney hold her while I check on the other Furalin, and the kids? I think the humans should be able to bounce back the quickest, but…”

Hartley made shooing motions. “Go. Check. We’ll be fine. Selena? Evgenia? Daniel? Anything you can do to hurry this up will be appreciated.” 

Å 

Cameron went to work, rousing his companions, rather nonplussed at the very briefest suggestion of ‘No, it was Meredith Joy’ that went through his head. Because, really? No way in hell. 

Except that John Sheppard, panting and wild-eyed, had a far-away look in his eye, as if communing with… someone. And then he was suddenly roaring and on his feet, and dashing off. 

Well, hell! That would not do!

Å


	10. Sex, Birth, Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Breech birth? No, I don’t really know what that entails beyond a Wikipedia article! So don’t try this at home.

Å 

Spencer tried to suppress all the myriad facts he knew about breech births, the risks, the statistics, the potential for disaster, for parent and child… Selena was an experienced midwife, must have seen countless such cases before, he had to trust she knew what to do. He had other problems on his hands. 

Gathering every ounce of strength he had left, he collected a hand gun from their supply, and joined the thin line of defense, next to Yuri, Edmund, Baldrick and Vala. And as the enemy gathered themselves off the floor just beyond the last barrier, and resumed setting their charges, he built connections into their minds, as many as he could, and then a few more… 

The charges went off, the loud boom and the reek of cordite spilling with dust and smoke into the Aquarium. But the bulkheads were only dented, not brought down. More enemy came forward with heavy sledge hammers to pound at the weakened metal slabs. 

Å 

McKay finally put his big brain to work, holding on to his daughter’s attention, and berating them both, to calm down and get down to business. Stubborn and determined, Meredith Joy complained to her daddy about how hard this was. One more push… a tiny bottom, hips, curled up legs, and one arm… 

With a wordless exclamation, Selena ordered Daniel, “Her arm! It’s up by her head! She can’t come this way! Rodney, stop pushing! I have to get her twisted so the arm comes down… Daniel, help me…”

Together they gently sent fingers into the opening, nudging, prodding, finally getting the tiny arm into position… 

“Now, Rodney! Push! It must be now!”

With almost a whoosh and a gush, not unlike a stargate wormhole opening, Meredith Joy finally erupted into the world. And she was already squalling, red-faced and furious. Too bright! Too cold! Too dry! Too loud! Too smelly! Too harsh! Selena carefully cleared her little mouth, wiped away the gore and blood, gave her to Daniel to hold for the moment while they waited for the afterbirth. Another plastic bag from somewhere was supplied, and soon the cord was cut, tied, and Meredith Joy laid in her daddy’s arms. 

Selena and Daniel both kept careful watch… it hadn’t been an easy birth, and the chances Rodney might have suffered internal injury was high. 

But Rodney had eyes and attention only for the precious thing in his arms, hugging tight to her and cooing softly to her. The infant McKay-Sheppard, finally exhausted and quiet, a thumb already in her mouth, sucking gently in comfort, fell blissfully asleep after her first big adventure. 

Å 

That’s when the rogue Genii team finally broke down the door. 

Spencer took firm hold and *yanked*, and a dozen of the enemy collapsed, unconscious. But there were a dozen more right behind them, clambering over the bodies.

The five armed defenders opened fire, spraying bullets as fast as the heads appeared through the gaping opening between warped door-frame and bent bulkhead door. 

Somewhere far away, there was the sound of screams and yells and Spencer’s overwhelmed empathy could feel both rage and terror spreading everywhere like the flood from a broken dike. He was distantly aware of a sudden punch of pain, somewhere near the shoulder… but glancing down at himself, he could only frown, because it didn’t seem to be him…

But there were too many coming through the door, even with the bodies piling up, being hauled back and out of the way of fresh invaders…

Desperate, Spencer *reached* for another dozen minds, even knowing how badly he was over-stretching himself… 

Å 

With the whirlwind of sentinels ripping into the Genii line, the regular military barely got a chance to engage, although it didn’t stop them trying. Cameron, Anne and Dusty were barely rational, but they were certainly doing better than Sheppard, Teyla or Ronon… and it took Master Teal’c of Chulak to shove them all to one side, to give the back-up forces the opportunity to fire their weapons without the risk of hitting one of their own.

Caught with nowhere to retreat but down the stairs to another blind suicide front, the Genii fought the harder. There was no escape for them, not now. 

Sheppard was here. And he was *pissed*.

Å 

McKay, still reeling, exhausted and glazed over with shock, could hear the gunfire, the screams, could even feel the roiling emotions of battle, close, far far too close, just way too close to his baby girl… 

“Oh no, you do *NOT*!”

McKay could feel it rising in him like a tidal wave, and overwhelming flood of rage at the threat to his precious baby. He gathered it up, the sheer power of it giving him a second wind, and then he *reached*… beyond the minds he could easily detect, like his own, Dr. Bob, Miko, sleeping Tony, stubborn, desperate, shattered and determined Reid... beyond the near minds of his friends and family, minions and neighbors... out to the strangers, the irrational, terror-struck and violent duller minds of the enemy... and he balled all his fury up into a bomb of sorts... and hurled it. 

Spencer felt it, and swiftly joined what strength he had left. And sensing what the profiler had done, Hartley, Miko, Radek, Anne, and all the hidden zeds did the same. 

The rogue Genii at the door fell, as if they were puppets with their strings cut.

And then there was silence, and the settling of heaped bodies and the smoke of gunfire.

Å 

Spencer could have cried, the relief was so great. But when Yuri, Edmund, Baldrick and Vala started to move past him, no doubt thinking to check bodies, to disarm and restrain any alive, Spencer urgently threw out a hand to stop them. 

“No! Don’t go out there yet. It’s not safe. Miko? Dr. Hartley? Better if you go meet them. I would go, but…” and he slipped slowly to his knees, “I don’t think I can stand any longer.”

Vala stepped to his side to try and help. But Spencer had expended energy he just didn’t have in the past hour, and the bill was coming due, with a vengeance. Spencer even warned her back, however, because when Cameron Mitchell came through those doors, it would be very not good if he found anyone within reach of Spencer Reid.

Because Spencer could feel them all, the red-tinged hearts of the feral sentinels, and until they calmed down, read the situation as secure and their mates as safe, they wouldn’t be safe for anyone but a Furalin to be around. 

Sheppard was first in the blast doors, stained with blood, and most of it wasn’t his, green eyes wild and dark as his hair. He homed immediately in on McKay and newborn Meredith Joy. With a moan that sounded almost like agony, he dropped next to his mate, wrapped his arms around them both, and began to sob. 

Teyla wasn’t far behind. She arrowed straight in on the sleeping man and babe, and fluttered to the floor, embracing them both with a contented sigh.

Then came Ronon, chest heaving and covered in blood, eyes dark and wild. Miko immediately stepped before him, holding her small hands up and placing them against his heart. 

“Be calm, Sentinel. We are safe. We thank you for coming for us.” 

Eyes riveted to her face, Ronon seemed to deflate, and grabbed the little woman in a hug. 

Further out, Spencer knew Anne and Dusty were doing a much better job of holding it together. He called out to them, knowing they would hear him, “We’re all safe and sound, I promise. Even TJ and Meredith Joy. But we could use some medical assistance. I think the new fathers are okay, but they could probably use a check to make sure. And Dusty? What the hell is wrong with your leg? Get that looked at!”

By the time he said that, Cameron was on him. 

Laid-back, affable, slow-talking, southern drawl Cameron, was suddenly there, with all the subtlety of a tornado, engulfing him in an embrace, tight, tight, tight, the other man’s nose buried in his neck, tongue out and practically lapping at the pulse point of Spencer’s carotid artery. But, held so close and intimate, Spencer could feel the shudders wracking the man’s body. And distantly, held at bay by force of will alone, the pain of a bullet hole in his shoulder, bleeding all over the two of them. Spencer reached to press against the wound, t try and stop the blood-flow.

Yeah, there were quite a few who would be recovering in the infirmary tonight. 

Å 

Then the Atlantis tannoy came alive, with General Jonathan ‘Jack’ O’Neill’s distinctive voice filling the air. “Attention. Trojan-B protocols are now completed, and normal functions have resumed. This includes comms and the transport system, on-line and active. All unauthorized persons on the city have been identified, and labeled either subdued or dead. So it looks like we have a state of peace. To those in the Aquarium, medical personnel are incoming… now, actually.”

And, sure enough, the nearest transport cabinet whooshed open, and Drs Keller and Biro, along with half a dozen nurses and half a dozen more orderlies, gushed out. 

O’Neill continued, “Once the docs get through triage down there, anyone not shipped direct to the infirmary, or without assigned duties corralling our Genii prisoners or collecting the dead, can assemble in the mess for a hot dinner. 

“Oh yeah, folks, clean up is going to be a *bitch*. So enjoy the break while you can.”

Å 

It was next day before Sam Carter was ready to call the major participants to join her for an interim de-briefing. There were several Command Staff still in the infirmary, after all, and Sam and Woolsey were both content to leave them there for the time being, at Keller’s insistence. So they were going to hold a *very* informal post mortem on the invasion events right in the infirmary lobby. Not like they hadn’t done the same at the SGC, time out of mind, as Jack had observed. 

Dr. Meredith Rodney McKay was still looking rather peaked, after minor surgery had been necessary to repair tears and slow-leak bleeding to his uterine wall. Agent Tony, on the other hand, was bouncing back in fine fettle, grinning smugly about his ‘Roman Ancestry’ beating out the ‘damn Celts’ once again. But Spencer suspected it was more the fact that Rodney’s Furalin talents had blown wide and left him with a hell of a headache even Anna couldn’t help him conquer in just a few hours. 

All of the ‘aware’ Furalin were struggling with exhaustion, headaches, dehydration and low blood sugar in the aftermath of the invasion. Spencer, Radek Zelenka, Anne Teldy, Miko Kusanagi and Dr. Bob Hartley had all needed an overnight with Keller’s staff to get back on their feet. But now, detached from IV lines, they were all doing much better. 

The sentinels… a little less so. Dusty hadn’t been the only one ignoring wounds in the heat of battle and a feral drive. 

Sheppard, with a pretty deep bullet graze across his ribs and another scoring his skull, could not pry himself from Rodney’s side for the life of him. Stitches to his side and the back or his head were bandaged, and he was curled up around his mate and newborn daughter. 

Teyla, although suffering no external wounds, was just as fixed to Tony. 

Ronon had no fewer than three holes in him, none critical enough to put the big man down. But after much stitching and bandaging, he discovered that Miko was a stern task-mistress under all of that traditional, shy, modest charm. He shocked his health-care workers with his easy acceptance of her demand he stay in bed. He was only too happy to obey her least wish, and she wished for him to stay close. 

Anne and Alison had endured one night in the infirmary sharing a cot, but were going to take a two day furlough and spend it shut up in their quarters immediately after the de-brief. The un-bonded sentinel, Dusty Mehra, was doing better, although complaining bitterly about having to suffer stitches for the wound in her leg, bed-ridden for at least another day before Keller would let her out with a set of crutches. Her team-mate, Laura Cadman, was staying close by, trusted enough to act as her guide, but Cadman was having issues of her own… after all, Carson Beckett was conspicuous in his absence in this, his home-from-home.

And Cameron Mitchell? With the hole in his shoulder stitched and dressed, h hadn’t lost enough blood to require a transfusion, luckily. He thought he would be free as a bird with a sling to keep his injury immobile. But when he went to stand… yeah, no, he needed a bit more recuperation time to replace the blood loss. It didn’t stop him shuffling unsteadily to another chair, though. The word most everyone used for him was ‘lurking’. He was definitely lurking, around Dr. Spencer Reid, to everyone’s delight. And, to their surprise, Reid seemed to be allowing it. 

Special dispensation had been allowed to several guests to attend this meeting, so Captain Kysol of the Travelers was there with her First Mate, Gastof, and Ladim Radim, leader of the Genii, was also present, looking rather haggard and grim. He had already received the unpleasant gift of twenty nine prisoners (alive and mostly well…) and one hundred sixty-nine dead. Sam had insisted the invaders all be ‘repatriated’, as at least some must have family on Genea who would want to know their fates and attend properly to whatever funeral rites they wished. And as for the survivors, well, they were Radim’s hot potato to deal with. Especially when the Genii Home World was informed that among the Lantean casualties from the incident were two dead Veralin, killed by Sovar’s rogues. Sam could present surveillance footage as ample proof. 

And, oh yes, two of the survivors were Pyol Sovar himself, and his second, Myla Wirrin. They were still alive because they had been caught in McKay’s mental blast, rather than the rifle sights or knife slashes of furious Protectors. So it was no wonder Ladon looked decidedly pale. Not just rogues, not just traitors to Genea and pirates succeeding, one more time, to prove that Atlantis could not be taken from the Lanteans… but those guilty of High Crime. Murderers of Veralin. 

As far as Sam was concerned, what happened to the invaders was Radim’s problem now, not hers. They should face trial on Genea, and be punished according to Genii law. Radim did not look grateful for the favor.

Sam opened the meeting by presenting a brief over-view of events, with a monitor helpfully provided by Garcia, prepared by Spencer as he lay in bed hooked to glucose and saline drips. Full written reports and logs would be collected in another day or two, when everyone was feeling better, but for now, this would serve. Sam was doing this in full view of Kysol and Radim for the sake of transparency. She and her people had nothing to hide from the other Pegasus natives. It was also illuminating for each of the Lantean groups represented – those locked in the Aquarium for the duration had only been dimly aware of what was going on outside all that time, and Sheppard had needed to be caught up on how the invaders took control in the first place. 

When the show was over, Sam sighed, glancing at her Military Commander, “Yeah, our Trojan-B protocol needs work. We *knew* they were trouble, and they still got the drop on us. Although, it was only because they had people with the ATA gene, our own people we should have known were struggling to cope, who Eli David managed to suborn. So, basically, an inside job. And the man we hold most responsible, besides General Sovar, is at large, in a stolen jumper, with three conspirators and a hostage in Dr. Carson Beckett. Yeah, not an ideal situation at all, and one we’ll be looking to deal with at the first opportunity.”

Captain Kysol glanced at the Atlantis Administrative leaders, and receiving a nod, said, “Tracking a ship in hyper-space is no easy task, but such a small vessel… they’ll need to stop for supplies at some point. I have already been in communication with my people… they’ll keep a watch and alert you at any hint of a location. 

“And, just so you know… we have long been tracking General Sovar and his group. But in the past two months, we were also made aware that Eli David was attempting to contact, not just rogue Genii groups and Wraith-worshippers, but us as well. When Sovar came to us for the use of my ship, I agreed, mostly to keep an eye on him and find out what he was up to. We were hoping to gain more information on both Sovar and David, and so I agreed to provide transport, although not military assistance in any form. Also, when I was told it was Atlantis they wanted to reach… well. We have wanted a word with the Magic Veralin, and here was our chance.” Kysol sent a meaningful glance to Spencer, saying, “We are most curious, Veralin… what the *hell* have you been telling everyone?”

“Yeah,” sighed General Jonathan ‘Jack’ O’Neill. “There’s a lot of folks asking that same question. Can it wait till after the briefing?”

Kysol nodded. “I merely wanted to explain why we assisted, even in a minimal fashion, with the perpetrators of High Crime.”

Richard Woolsey rubbed at his temples, a chronic headache apparently rooted there, and said, “We understand, and the fact that you retrieved us from the Mainland to come take back our city… well. We can only thank you for that.”

Kysol nodded. “There is more we would tell you. First… we, the Travelers, have long held a treaty with a colony of the Furling. Our agreement was to keep their locations and identities secret. I am only telling you now, because our allies have asked us to make you an offer. They wish to meet with your representatives, at a location of our choice, to discuss an alliance. They have specified Dr. Daniel Jackson, and Dr. Spencer Reid, plus any of your Veralin who desire to accompany them, be included in your delegation. Since we are aware you have been seeking the Furling for some time, may I assume this is agreeable to you?”

“Yes, it is very agreeable!” Daniel was quick to offer. 

Jack considered putting the brakes on that, demanding more precautions, more control over location, but… really? Yeah, they all wanted this, the Furling, the Travelers, and the Expedition… but mostly Daniel. So why fight it? 

“Yeah, that would save us all a lot of aggravation,” Jack admitted. 

Kysol nodded yet again. “Then there remains only one more matter for me to discuss with you. As you know, we have been monitoring the activity of the one Asuran ship remaining in our galaxy, as well as the locations and movements of the Wraith Hives, as many as we can track. 

“When the Hives wakened from their most recent Hibernation cycle, we estimated that there were at least five thousand Hives, with varying numbers of support vessels, cruisers, cargo ships and darts. After the predation of the Hoffan plague, the Asurans, Michael and his Hybrid army, the efforts of several of the more advanced Pegasus groups, including yourselves and the Genii, to fight back, with varying degrees of success… yesterday morning, certain numbers stood at about three hundred and seven Hives. Although we admit we may be missing a few. We are aware a lot have taken refuge in the outer from of the galaxy, hiding from the dangers, much as we have done, for millennia.”

The Expedition members all traded aghast glances. 

“So many destroyed!” Teyla gasped.

“Mostly due to the Hoffan plague,” Kysol acknowledged. “We think almost all Pegasus communities have been infected. You have an anti-virus cure, do you not? So you may be the *only* population left to have escaped it in recent years. But, as a result, the Wraith have been feeding on poison for years. We have counted exactly four thousand, nine hundred and twelve Hives hanging derelict and empty in space, nothing but corpses on board. Those few surviving are eating their own soldiers.”

“Holy Hannah,” Sam breathed. 

“So, in the past two months, there have been distinct changes in their movements. Because the Asurans have been going to each Hive, and each known Wraith-worshipper colony. They give a brief message, and then leave. And they are saying the message is from you, the Magic Veralin,” Kysol finished, staring at Spencer, who reddened. Cameron Mitchell, pinned to his side, put a reassuring arm (the one not in the sling) around his waist. 

“We were somewhat aware of that,” Daniel replied. “Two different groups of Wraith recently managed to make contact with us, to demand answers and… clarification. According to the group SG-1 met, the message they received was: ‘Everything is Magic. All life, all sentience, has value. Give up your destructive ways. Attempt to live by this rule: Treat all others as you would have them treat you. There is a way for you to change your ways so you do not need to kill others to eat. Chose change, and you will survive. Chose not to change, and your enemies will never stop making war on you, until you are all dead. If you chose to change, come to us, and we will give you the means.’”

Spencer sighed. “I told the Asurans all we wanted was for us *all* to go home, safe and sound. I asked them for truce with humans. Let the people go unharmed, trouble humans no more, and we would not trouble them. Our Golden Rule: Treat others as you would like them to treat you. We talked a little about the Wraith... whether they deserved to live too... I said, sure, far as I was concerned, if they stopped eating us. The rest... they must have taken from my mind. ”

Kysol stared at him, wide-eyed. “And ’Everything is Magic’?”

Spencer shrugged. “Isn’t it? I like that explanation better than everything is chaos, and big rocks hitting little rocks. And, honestly? That’s all our current understanding of science allows for.”

McKay straightened in his cot, with a protesting noise, Meredith Joy sleeping contently in his arms, oblivious to all the people around her. But a single raised eyebrow from the profiler, and the Canadian astrophysicist and engineer had to shrug and admit he was right, there.

Kysol was startled out of a laugh, shaking her head. “Yes. Very well. Agreed. Your explanation does seem to account for more recent events. Because over the past weeks, we have observed many of the major Hives moving into position to waylay the Asuran ship on their mission. Ninety two Hives, with full support craft, were observed moving into ambush. Yesterday, they attacked the Asurans. Not one of the Wraith attack force survived. All were utterly destroyed. 

“Then, just this morning, I was informed that another delegation of Wraith Hives approached the Asurans... without hostilities. They met for a short period of time, then parted. More and more of the Hives are beginning to move from their current locations, on an intercept course with the Asurans. My suspicion is that, given what you’ve just told me, the remaining Hives are going to take up the Asuran offer, and take the retro-virus. We will, of course, be watching closely, but... it is certainly my hope.”

Stunned, the Expedition personnel all stared at each other. Could the Wraith Scourge be over?

Sam was the first to recover her voice. “That would be our hope, too, Captain Kysol. Thank you for your trust in us, telling us this. And I hope we can be allies in the future. You are certainly more than welcome to take advantage of our facilities and our engineering expertise, to repair and supply any of your ships that may require dry-dock.”

Kysol nodded once again. “We will be in touch. But now I have a rendezvous to make. I will contact you at a later time with details for the meeting with the Furling. Come, Gastof.”

At this obvious breaking up of the meeting, Ladon Radim also stood, looking ten years older and unutterably tired. “I think I had better return to Genea, as well. I have a lot of work to do, sorting out this disaster. But... Dr. Jackson... Dr Reid... if at all possible...” and the man winced. “If you could... intercede for us, the Genii people? For the mercy of the Veralin? Any reparations they would demand of us for past... mistakes... we will certainly consider. It would be... most appreciated.”

Daniel Jackson, not understanding, but having a pretty good guess as to those past mistakes, was still a forgiving man by nature. “I will certainly mention your offer to the Furling when we meet.”

“Let me escort you both,” Richard Woolsey offered. “Captain Kysol, I’ll grant authorisation for your ship to leave whenever you’re ready. And Leader Radim, I’ll take you to the stargate myself.” 

Å 

“Well!” Vala huffed. “The end of the Wraith war in a footnote to a de-briefing after the invasion of the city? That’s a bit… anticlimactic, isn’t it?”

Daniel sighed. “I’m just glad it won’t end in another act of genocide on our parts. I… I get very tired of those.”

Which succeeded in shutting the woman up, Jack was glad to see. He scowled at her… scowls were easier than grins and leers, which were what he found himself sending her lately, without his being aware of it half the time… But Jack knew he and Vala were both concerned that Daniel wasn’t completely over the guilt he felt over the end of the Ori.

Wishing to back off the fraught moment, Vala turned to Edmund Black and Tony Baldrick, who had both managed to ooze their way into the meeting. “And just why are you two a part of this? You’re not Expedition leadership, you’re not Veralin… who are you exactly again?”

Edmund grinned. “Well, we did stand off the whole invasion force when they broke into the Aquarium, didn’t we? And we’re not just IOA pawns, or, as most of you probably guessed, ex-SAS. Which, actually, we are that. What we really are, though, my partner and I, are agents of Interpol. Our former team-lead, Emily Prentiss, personally proposed us for this mission.” 

Spencer gasped. “Emily sent you?”

“That’s right, Spencer my dear. She wanted someone she trusted to watch your six.” With one of his better leers, peering around Dr. Reid, “And I’ve found it quite the enjoyable experience, all things considered.” 

“So the teasing… on orders from Emily?” Spencer guessed.

“Oh no! Well, maybe, yeah,” Baldrick admitted. “She said you needed help loosening up a bit. I’m just glad she picked us for the assignment.” He grinned like the fool he only pretended to be.

Yeah, Spencer thought, Emily would consider it absolutely hilarious, if Edmund teased him with his blatant flirting. But in his ear he heard a resentful and territorial sub-vocal growl from the sentinel stitched to his side, and a slight tightening of the grip around his waist. Absently, he gave a reassuring pat to that arm.

Shaking loose the image of Emily’s mocking grin, Spencer turned to Tony. “So, Boss. In the middle of all the brouhaha in the Aquarium, you asked me to remember something. ‘Wormhole X-Treme by Thom E. Gemcity’. So what was that all about?”

“Ah,” said very special Agent Afloat Tony DiNozzo. “It’s my cunning plan. O’Neill wanted an out-of-the-box solution for his zed problems. Well, when Blair Sandburg was worried about his partner getting outed by his stolen thesis, what did he do?” 

“He claimed it was fiction… oh!” 

McKay said, “Okay, I admit I may have been out of it, with impending child-birth and everything, but… Wormhole X-Treme? That piece of trash? Why would you possibly want to remember that? It was absolute garbage! The science was totally screwed up, the story lines were ridiculous, they made me into a raving lunatic who couldn’t get along with anyone, Daniel was an emo freak archeologist with a gun and glasses who kept dying all the time, Sam was a bimbo in love with her… team leader… umm…” 

At Colonel Carter’s glare, Sheppard advised, “Settle down, daddy. This would be a good time to keep your mouth shut, by the way.” 

Tony grinned. “You mean that TV show that was *total* and *complete* fiction, that HomeWorld has been hiding behind for years? Why, yes, I do mean that. But I’m suggesting a book, maybe even a series, about a couple of zed space cops with gnarly mental super powers, and cats, saving the galaxy, who suddenly discover to their utter shock that the Z chromosome is the legacy of an advanced alien race. Hence the gnarly mental super powers. And cats. We won’t bother explaining the cats, because, well, why? Cats sell books, or so I’ve heard. We’ll make Vala’s story about the Hermaphrodite chapter one, to explain why bad-guy aliens hated us so much and infected that hatred down through the ages. Then we’ll have more bad-guy aliens show up, present day, to steal us from Earth for our hidden super powers, and it’s when we turn the tables on them, because, you know, super powers, that we acquire lots of space ships and the okay from the military to run amok, exploring the galaxy. And I have *just* the guy who can front them for us – Thom E. Gemcity himself.” 

“Wait… isn’t he that mystery writer? Does that series about Navy cops who… Ohhh…” 

“Yeah, that’s the guy. Otherwise known as McPenName, Timothy McGee. Believe me, McTraitor owes me one… actually, a whole lot more than one. I can guarantee he’ll do it, and the best part? He’ll never dare to spill the beans where the stories are coming from, because if he does, he’ll totally lose his street cred. 

“And although we’ll be presenting it as thinly-veiled fiction, *very* thinly veiled, it’s going to be a credible defense of zeds everywhere on planet Earth. Space adventures with zed heroes? What a concept. And one of ‘em our proven super-zed hero, Dr. Spencer Reid? Oh yeah. Hopefully, it will help raise awareness, provide positive zed role models in media, supply an alternate to the mutant-genetic-mistake story, white-wash our reputations as zeds, and make it easier for us to move on protecting our people and improving our civil rights, world-wide.” 

O’Neill cogitated on that a moment… “You know… that just might work… suppose we could sneak a few super-sentinels in there too…?”

Å 

Spencer finished his last after-action report, logged it, emailed it to his immediate supervisor, the head of the civilian wing, the military commander, and the Administrative heads. No doubt Colonel Carter would forward it on to O’Neill for the usual redaction process. With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair. 

He felt oddly restless, still. Maybe it was just the lingering effects of adrenaline over-load, but… something felt incomplete to him, more than just Carson Beckett, out there somewhere, lost, in enemy hands… 

With a sigh, he closed down his work station, had Garcia lock up, and straightened from his chair, giving his back a stretch. “Coming, Bast?”

Of course she was.

But instead of heading directly to a transport cabinet and his own quarters... he began to wander aimlessly, the quiet night-shift halls of the great city of Atlantis. 

His feet took him back to the infirmary, where certain parties were still being kept for recovery and observation. 

Even out in the hall, he could hear almost-hushed not-whispers of an ongoing and totally typical squabble. 

“See? She’s got my hair. Thick and black. Sheppard hair.”

“Well ye-ah... all sticky-up and cow-licky. She’s gonna hate it when she’s a teenager.”

“Nah, she’ll love it.”

“Hate it.”

“Love it...”

Spencer could only smile, as he finally came into the medical section. Dr. Jennifer Keller was at work on reports at her desk, but looked up at his entry. She wasn’t one of his favorite people, and Spencer knew McKay still carried a grudge, and had insisted that, in Carson’s absence, that Dr. Biro be the one to attend him. But Spencer couldn’t deny that the woman was competent and professional, and if she had any issues with zeds, beyond not wanting to marry one herself, it wasn’t apparent in her manner otherwise. Spencer supposed he could give her the benefit of the doubt, for now.

She stood up and came out to meet him. “Dr. Reid. I’m glad you came by. Mind if I pick your brain about something? My experience with... zed issues is somewhat limited, and I know you’ve done considerable research and statistical analyses on them.”

Curious now, Spencer nodded willingly. “I can certainly listen. What is the issue?”

“Well, it seems as if Teyla is beginning to spontaneously lactate. It began this morning. I’ve checked, and, no, she is not pregnant at the current time. I’ve consulted with a number of the Athosians, Selena in particular, and they’ve never heard of any reaction like this. I just wondered... if it was because she’s mated to a zed?”

Spencer shook his head. “She’s not zed herself. She is, however... well... you’ve heard of the sentinel phenomenon? In the Pegasus they’re called Protectors. People with... um... somewhat enhanced senses?”

Keller blinked. “Oh. Oh! So you think a person with... um... enhanced senses, bonded to a pregnant person, may become so over-sensitized, surrounded and soaking up all those pregnancy hormones and pheromones, that their body may be fooled into starting lactation?”

“Combined with the quite obvious fact that Teyla has already been through the process of motherhood herself, and has accepted TJ as completely and utterly her own, in every way possible? Yes, I think it’s a possibility... though probably incredibly rare.”

“Hm. I think that makes sense.”

“Tony and Rodney are lactating properly themselves, aren’t they?” Spencer asked, somewhat anxiously, with a hand on is middle. Male-identified, with his slender frame and expecting twins… he was a little worried he would be unable to handle breast feeding, an activity with multiple proven benefits for the baby.

“They’ve both successfully handled several feedings, Dr. Reid.” She smiled at him, as if divining his concern. “You should be fine. Well, thank you for the consult, Dr. Reid.”

“You’re certainly welcome, doctor.”

She retreated back to her office, and Spencer resumed is rounds. He looked in on the DiNozzos... A second cot had been introduced to their cubicle, shoved against the first, for Torren and Tali to be within reach of their parents and new brother. TJ was cradled between the bodies of his parents, sleeping peacefully. At the foot of one cot lay marmalade Luke, calico Oma on the other, both looking up at Spencer with unblinking eyes, that expressed the bland cat opinions, “I’m not hungry, and you’re not interesting.” 

Smiling, Spencer moved on. 

Å 

Ronon had taken several bullets at some point in the battle, and not bothered to tell anyone, until Miko had discovered blood on her hands. Normally, he wouldn’t have stayed in medical for longer than it took to stitch him up, even with his post-feral adrenaline crash, but Miko had insisted. Miko insisted about a lot of things, and, with what, in *anyone* else, could only have been described as a goofy grin, Ronon had folded like a bad poker hand. 

Spencer hovered as the oblivious couple whispered to each other. 

Miko scolded gently, “You have dallied with *everyone* on Atlantis, at one time or another… male, female, zed, not, but never with me. Why not with me?”

“Dunno. But it stops now.”

“Yes, certainly it stops now. But you do find me attractive, yes?”

“Oh yeah... and as soon as we’re out of here and don’t have an audience...” and the man’s sly sentinel-sharp eyes slid to the watching Spencer, then back to his bond-mate, “I’ll show you just *how* attracted I am.”

“That would certainly be good. No, Lucifer, I am not going to feed you right now. Go get Dr. Reid to feed you.”

Å 

By the time Spencer had dealt with Lucifer’s impatient hunger, Colonel John Sheppard seemed to be asleep, collapsed back into the pillows with his arms around the waist of Dr. Meredith Rodney McKay. On his bared chest, face down and sucking on a thumb, was tiny Meredith Joy Sheppard McKay. Or McKay-Sheppard, Spencer wasn’t quite sure. Anyway, she seemed asleep too, her little head covered in fine dark hair.

Spencer smiled and whispered, “She’s beautiful, Dr. McKay. Congratulations.”

Concern sent anxious eyes up to his. “You don’t think… her head is a little… um… weird shaped?”

“Oh no. That slight elongation is usual in a normal vaginal birth. Her skull plates aren’t joined up yet, you see. They have to be able to shift and reform so they’ll fit through the birth canal. But in a day or two they’ll re-form, and it’ll take some time for them to grow and fuse together properly.”

Relief was clear in those blue eyes. The scientist hadn’t quite dared to ask anyone else if his beloved daughter was… abnormal. Squashed. Damaged, maybe.

Wide blue eyes stared down at the precious tiny bundle. Spencer could easily detect the other man’s broadcast emotions… McKay felt breathless, and totally smitten… he had never been struck so hard and fast by an overwhelming emotion of warm, pure love… 

“Thank you,” McKay whispered, although it wasn’t clear, at first, who he was thanking, but possibly Meredith Joy. But then he turned his eyes up to Spencer. “Thank you. For all you did for us, in the Aquarium. The emergency kit, holding off the Genii… helping me link to Meredith Joy… I’m not sure we would have made it without your help. I… I know you don’t like me, don’t approve of me, think I’m going to make a terrible parent…”

“What?” yelped a startled Spencer, then hastily moderated his voice. “No! Of course I… No. Dr. McKay… I have every admiration for you, and the difficult stresses you’ve been under. Believe me! And I don’t mean just the crushing responsibility you have to shoulder for keeping the city afloat and protecting all of us within her walls. Although that’s certainly a part of it. Calling you on some of your more… unintended and erratic behavior was merely to help you, and those around you. You really did need to find better, and certainly less harmful, coping mechanisms. The only way I thought I could make you do that is if I went all Hotch on you. Aaron Hotchner, my team leader and friend at the BAU, he’s a parent himself, and he knows when only a stern and strict hand can make some out of control person behave in a suitable fashion. Tough Love, you know?

“But… I have every admiration for you, Dr. McKay. I’ve lived with the Z brand my whole life… I’ve had more than thirty years to find some way to deal with the restrictions, the challenges, the injustices, the unavoidable consequences, the… the *anger*… you’ve had, what, less than a year? No wonder you’ve had such a hard time of it, for that very thing alone. And then the pregnancy on top of it… you can be excused a little denial in self defense.

“When I got home after… after Sulfur Springs… and I had to face my own difficult and unavoidable consequences… I was only too aware that the first option available to me was to… eliminate it entirely. I… It was tempting. Very tempting. To just… wipe it away, and go on as if it had never happened...” With a gulp, Spencer stroked both hands tenderly over his middle, a silent apology to his precious babies. “I didn’t do that, obviously… My mom helped me there. I know you don’t have anyone like her in your life. So I know your decision must have been just as agonizing as mine… More so without the support she gave me. 

“So, yeah, I have only the greatest admiration for you, and the difficult decisions you’ve been forced to make. And I know that you will love Meredith Joy with all your heart, and give her every advantage you possibly can, so she can grow up strong and brave in the face of her own unavoidable consequences. Because, like us, she’s Furalin. Which is both a wonder and a challenge… and she will be looking to us both for role models. And, I hope, Anne and Carson and Miko and Radek, and… all the people who, I have no doubt at all, can teach her more about grace under pressure than either of us.”

McKay hiccupped on a laugh at that statement. “Don’t we know it! I’m still struggling to model my own behavior after Anna, here, baby steps, trying to get at least a little closer to Teyla.”

“Oh, well, Teyla? That’s a little beyond my reach, I think. That woman is awesome in every possible way.”

“Too true,” McKay agreed whole-heartedly.

“But man’s reach must exceed his grasp, else what’s a heaven for?”

Rodney grinned. “I know that. It’s from a poem…”

“It’s Robert Browning, from ‘Andrea del Sarto’, Dr. McKay.”

“Right. Right. Look… I think maybe we got off on the wrong foot. Hi. I’m Dr. Meredith Rodney McKay. This is my daughter, Meredith Joy, and my… well, boyfriend, I guess, Colonel John Sheppard. He won’t tell me if he has a middle name, so it’s probably something really embarrassing, like Marion or something. But, you can call me Rodney.”

“Rodney. A pleasure to meet you. I’m Dr. Spencer Reid. Call me Spencer.”

“Not Probie?” Sheppard whispered sleepily, a smile in his voice. 

“Not *your* Probie, certainly. Good night, Sheppard-McKays.”

“McKay-Sheppards!” Rodney hissed after him as he made his way out of the infirmary. 

“No, he’s got it right, Sheppard-McKays. And the next time, I get to name the kid.”

“What next time? You think I’m ever going through that *agony* again? Think again, mister! And it’s McKay-Sheppards. And even if there is a next time, there will also be full medical facilities, an entire fully trained team of medical professionals on hand, with epidurals and the *good* drugs, or maybe we’ll just skip the ‘wonder of natural child-birth’ scenario entirely and go straight to well scheduled caesarian under full anesthetic…”

Å 

At last, Spencer approached the last cubicle on the ward. All was quiet and darkened, in deference to a newly-awakened sentinel’s sensitivity to stimulus. Cameron Mitchell had finally been bullied to take an infirmary cot for the night, to deal with persistent dizzy spells and a few troubling rashes. The man lay still in his cot, apparently dead to the world. Spencer suspected he’d been sedated in an effort to get him to settle. Cameron struck him as a man who wasn’t happy unless he was on the move.

Spencer stood a moment and stared, amazed and... humbled. 

He was still wrestling somewhat with what it may mean, to accept anyone in his life… much less a sentinel. Sitting silently in the provided visitor’s chair by the narrow infirmary bed, he took one limo hand, and felt it close on his, a sense of warmth flooding him, and a sudden relaxation of tension he hadn’t been fully aware of. Even his restless feeling seemed to fade away, and Spencer relaxed back in the chair. 

Time to rest, heal, and let everything else go. Tomorrow would be soon enough to think about relationships, the lack thereof, the difficulties, and the potential for something… not too painful… not to mention grapple with whatever other issues presented… 

And, with Spencer’s abysmal luck, there’d be yet another Pegasus galaxy crisis before long.

He was going to die a virgin. Apart from, you know, Sulfur Springs, which his mother had assured him did not count, and wouldn’t count for anyone who truly loved him. Yeah, he would die a virgin, for sure. The Universe just did not want him to be happy.

He sighed, and before he could even entertain another thought, he wound down into sleep…

Å 

Spencer sat in a jungle glade. It was night, but there was a faint blue glow, as if from a moon he couldn’t see. The smells of lush verdant vegetation, and the distant sounds of animal cries, the rustle of leaves and branches brushed by the wind, filled the air. It was peaceful, safe, comforting. But he was waiting and, for the moment, waiting felt like a meditation.

Slowly, he became aware of life, all around him, filled, almost strangled, with densely-packed life. But one denizen, at least, was aware and looking back at him. Then another… and another… Eyes peered from every shadow, the reflected light glimmering brightly in them, turning them into pale gold lamps. Intent, focused, it wasn’t predatory interest, but curiosity he felt. He knew this, seemed to sense it, without opening his own eyes. 

Then, suddenly, without seeming to have moved at all, she was just… there, standing before him, delicately sniffing the air, sniffing Spencer. 

Smiling, Spencer opened his eyes, and stared back at the creature. Intelligent beyond her species, the light in her gold eyes dimming only slightly as she studied him, a domestic short hair cat, *Felis silvestris catus*, her coat tabby grey marked with black in spots, swirls and stripes, in a startling and distinctive pattern Spencer was only too familiar with… because it was exactly like the patterning on his own skin, around his genitals and up over his swollen belly, the pink and purple mottling that appeared on any zed at puberty. It was this mottling that truly marked a zed, far more than the artificial brand on his wrist. 

The animal took one silent padding step nearer, then another… it was as if they were drawn to each other, in this sacred glade. Spencer reached out, and slowly, deliberately, patted the creature, rubbing behind her alert, pointed ears. She suddenly gave a purr, and collapsed in his lap, turning up her belly for a sensual rub, opening her mouth, letting her tongue loll over sharp teeth, closing her eyes, and purring, gave herself up to bliss. 

Spencer grinned, lavishing attention on his familiar companion. “Hey, Bast.”

Then he became aware of another approaching. 

This one was human, in shape at least. Tall, slender and loose-limbed, naked, hairless, its skin covered, all over, head to toe, in a mottling of pink and purple in a distinctive pattern of dots, swirls and stripes that was all too familiar… 

Spencer was naked as well, and unconcerned. 

The not-quite-human being smiled at him. Around his shoulders curled another cat, though this one must not have been pure *Felis silvestris catus*, as it was larger, had tufts on its ears and a shorter tail. It was hard to tell in the bluish light, which somewhat distorted color, but Spencer thought it might be green tabby, with the zed mottling pattern, and seemed to have no trouble balancing on its companion’s shoulders as he – it? – walked. 

The alien was soon joined by others, more and more all the time, both the zed-mottled Furlings, though very few of those, and human-Furling Furalin, all of them with their various feline familiars. 

“Hail the Furalin,” said Jahar, as they all filed in and sat cross-legged in a circle with Spencer. “Greetings, my child.”

“Greetings, father Jahar.”

Over the tops of the trees a moon swung into view… but not the smiling face he had always known. And then a second, smaller moon joined the first. And behind them, a panoply of stars swept into an arc, a celestial map unlike any Spencer had ever studied in his astronomy classes, or seen in the night skies of Earth. 

The familiars began to shift, change, take on other shapes; Jahar’s the alien toucan, Tony’s the coyote, Bast the cougar, Blair and his wolf, Miko’s kitsune fox. Rodney, just now stalking into the jungle glade and staring around him in amazement, a tiny baby in his arms he would not leave behind, even on a spirit walk, was followed by a lumbering faithful polar bear. More familiars came singly, impatient with their own Furalin who not yet fully ‘awake’, joining the circle anyway, like Daniel’s white crow. 

Rodney blinked around at the others, all of them naked, and demanded, “What the hell, Spencer? Tony? Miko?”

Tony merely shrugged. “We’re the Furalin, Rodney. The package comes with a familiar and a range of gnarly mental powers, once you get in tune enough, awake and aware enough to control them. Anna is a Polar Bear spirit guide, by the way. Pretty awesome. Oh, this is Jahar, leader of the Furling, and this is Blair Sandburg. He’s currently hanging out in Cascade Washington.”

“Hey, Rodney,” Blair greeted with a grin and a wave. “We’ve been waiting on you, man. Anna’s been saving you a place, just like Aten there is saving one for Daniel. Oh, hey, Tony? Not so pregnant anymore? Congratulations, man! You too, Rodney!” and the shaman gestured to the baby Rodney carried with him.

Jahar nodded regally. “Welcome, TJ and Meredith Joy. Hail the Furalin.”

Spencer frowned, noticing that in the sentinel plain, just beyond the first rank of jungle trees and undergowth, the number of spirit animals was growing. 

Blain, noticing his attention, chuckled. “Yeah, man, Jim’s Patronus Convention grows ever larger. So do the number of half-awake Furalin wandering close. I’m thinking it’s cause and effect, and the numbers are growing by exponential leaps. Most of them are Earth animals, not aliens, so I figure they’re here on Earth.”

Spencer’s thoughts sharpened. “You think the number of awakening Furalin are calling sentinels to protect them.”

“That’s my theory, anyway. That story you told me? Vala’s story of ancient times? The Hermaphrodite was able to call special ‘protectors’ to his cause. Sentinels, right?”

“That was my guess also.”

“Hey,” Blair said, looking around. “Where’s Galen? Anybody see the red stag?”

Tony winced. “Yeah, we may have a problem there. Carson’s been abducted by bad guys and…” He shrugged helplessly.

“Bummer! What happened?”

Which was when Dr. Carson Beckett stumbled in, wide-eyed and blinking, head turning this way and that to watch all the strangers… a little unnerved by the red stag at his shoulder, but glad when he recognized those in the middle of the glade. “Oh thank god! What is this? *Where* is this?”

“Welcome, Carson,” said Jahar placidly. “Hail the Furalin.”

“Come sit yourself, Carson,” Tony recommended. “You’re on the spirit plane. Don’t sweat it. It’s a bonus when you ‘Awake’ to your Furalin powers. This is Jahar, leader of the Furling, and this is Dr. Blair Sandburg, anthropologist working for the Cascade Washington PD. The rest you can meet later. You okay? Eli David is treating you okay?”

Carson sighed and shrugged. “For the time being. He and his cohorts seem to think they need me. But this does not fill me with confidence.” 

“Well no. I imagine not,” Spencer agreed. “But can you tell us where you are? Where they’re taking you?”

“Where I am? I’m on my way back to the Milky Way galaxy, as near as I can tell. They’re taking me back to Earth.”

Spencer and Tony exchanged glances with Rodney.

“Not by jumper, they’re not,” Rodney assured them. “It’d take decades, maybe even centuries, in a small craft like that, even at hyper-speed. Even if the engines could handle it, or the power cells, there’s not enough room for the food and water supplies you’d need, and even the oxygenation system would be taxed beyond belief…” 

“No. First they want to rendezvous with a Lucian Alliance ship. There’s one on the way, apparently, following on the trail of the *Daedalus* from their last run. Eli David and Shelyapin are in cahoots, have been from the first, and both are in the pay of the Lucians. Timur Shelyapin has a cunning plan of some kind, and getting himself smuggled on the *Daedalus*, scuttling her so his cronies could steal her, was only part of it. They were going to use her to take Atlantis. Well, that plan failed, but there’s another Lucian ship out there somewhere, just waiting for a message… which was sent yesterday. They’re to pick us up. Now that Atlantis is out of reach, *again*, the Lucians will need Timur, Eli and a strong zed, that would be me, apparently, to assist in the new plan.”

“Which is?” McKay demanded, not impressed. 

Carson sighed, stroking the muzzle of the stag. “Not entirely sure about that. They want to take Earth. And they seem to think, with my help, they may have the tools they need to do it.” 

“Hunh,” Blair Sandburg commented. “That doesn’t sound good.”

Å 

Spencer woke to a warm hand stroking his. 

“Hey there, sunshine.”

Spencer smiled at the sleepy-eyed man. “Hey. You feeling better?”

“Not exactly that bad to start with. Sam usually brings me macaroons when I’m laid up like this, by the way. Just a thought.”

Spencer smiled. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Cameron focused on their hands, seemingly glued together. “This okay with you, Spencer? Don’t want to rush you any. You’ve been through a lot, and, of course, after what you went through in Sulfur Springs… You’ve been playing pretty hard to get since I first met you, don’t like to touch, or even shake hands… and I figured there was a reason for that. Like maybe you weren’t quite over… you know. I just didn’t want to pressure you any.”

Spencer sighed. “I’m… I just need a little time. I’m a little… ambivalent, on issues regarding the heart. Usually, I let my head lead me. Not working so well in this case. Wish I could call my mom…”

Cameron nodded. “I hear ya, man.” His clear blue eyes held a hint of disappointment, and he made to withdraw his hand. But Spencer held on tight. 

“It’s not going to be easy for you, either, Cameron. I’m a geek. I’m happiest with a book. I love Dr. Who marathons, I cosplay at conventions, I tend to prattle too much, facts about things no one else cares about, my first two years at the FBI my whole team thought I was at least borderline autistic, I’m still not all that good around people, and I’m zed. Not to mention I've got twins on the way. Also…” he gulped a little, his eyes downcast because he could not bare to make this next confession while looking into those smiling blue eyes… “I’m… a little on the inexperienced side. I’ve done all the research, but… not sure Wikipedia is a sufficient authority on what to expect from… you know.”

Cam blinked. “Okay, that’s… and Sulfur Springs does not count.”

“No. Certainly not.”

“So… Sulfur Springs notwithstanding, have you ever…”

“Never. Not with anyone, male or female. One kiss, some poetry, some phone conversations…”

“Well, damn.”

“Does that really make a difference?”

“Hell no! Well, except that now the pressure is all on me, to make sure your first time is real good… but listen, Spencer…”

“Uh-oh. This sounds serious.”

“It kinda is. Nothing you’ve said so far puts me off, at all. Quite the opposite, if anything. But… No more rescues, okay? Two in as many days… is not good for my blood pressure.”

“Not to mention two sentinel feral episodes. But… You know what my job is, right?”

Cameron gave a huff. 

“And I am a certified trouble magnet,” Spencer went on blithely, “So… can you… maybe… consider it as job security for a fully functional sentinel?”

Cameron choked down a chuckle. “Oh yeah, match made in heaven, beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

Spencer played idly with the warm hand he was claiming as his own, and felt… he felt… 

There was a thump, and a heavy cat making herself comfortable on his lap. Bast offered Cameron a friendly head-butt before collapsing in a purring, contented heap. 

“I’d really like to kiss you right now,” Cameron whispered. 

An almost electric tingle went through Spencer, up from his hand, and down from his neck, warming him from the inside out. “Okay, yes, maybe…”

Spencer picked up his cat and dropped her on the floor, to her grunted protest. Then he leaned over, mindful of Cameron’s injury, and…

Feeling the lips of another human being on his own, Spencer fell into bliss. Spencer, the man who never liked to touch, felt warm and fuzzy feelings about his sentinel… safety, companionship, belonging… it felt like… like…

“Home,” Cam whispered. 

Spencer never really knew what that meant, but had been looking for it all his life, and never, quite, found it. 

“Because Home isn’t a place, sunshine,” Cam told him, “It’s a person. And, I hope… you can find that with me.” 

Spencer gave a sigh of contentment, and straightened back, then leaned into his chair. Meeting his sentinel’s eyes, he smiled, and fell asleep.

Å 

*~ No matter how much cats fight, there always seem to be plenty of kittens.~ Abraham Lincoln* 

~ and isn’t that the most *wonderful* comment on reconciliation between warring/disparate entities? ~ the author.

Å

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand… it’s a wrap for ‘Stage IV: Brothers in Arms’, a reference to all three of my pregnant zeds, Spencer, Tony *and* Rodney. Thank you to all for reading, and to those of you who left kudos and comments, a special thanks. Your support is invaluable to me. 
> 
> Next up, the finale of ‘A Daring Adventure’, ‘Stage V: The Road Home’: wherein I finish with the Wraith, deal with the Lucian Alliance/Trust & the David family, rescue Carson, and tie up loose ends with Spencer/Cam & the Daniel/Vala/Jack triangle, zed prejudice and abductions, sentinels & guides, the truth about cats, and hopefully get Dimmy & JJ born. Yeah, I think I can handle all that. Stage V may split 2-for-1(again, heavy sigh…), but I can do it. WARNING, it’s gonna take a few months before I’m ready to post again, and I’m going to enter NaNoWriMo this year with an original work, so November will be a wash. But have no fear, my Furalin heroes *will* be back in action soon.


End file.
